So It Did Happen after All
by konarciq
Summary: You can insist that "it never happened" all you want, but facts have a way of curiously finding their way out into the open... Note: story is *not* abandoned - just on hold! That's what happens if enthusiasm takes the author further than originally intended... I've got a few ideas further down the line, just not as to how to continue where we are now!
1. It never happened

**_Warning: _**

**_this story contains frequent implied references to sexual intercourse,  
as well as minor coarse language. _**

**_Guideline: if the level of language and implied sex in the TV-series _The Next Generation_ didn´t bother you, _**

**_then I´m pretty sure this won´t either. _**

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This story is based on the events from the 1__st__ season episode "The Naked Now",  
written by J. Michael Bingham and John D. F. Black. _

_With thanks for providing me with the inspiration!_

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**So It Did Happen after All**

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As she stepped out of the turbolift, she did the utmost not to appear self-conscious. To look her usual self. Cool. Collected. Professional. Those were proper words to describe the Enterprise's Chief of Security.

But as she rigidly walked over to her station on the upper bridge, her eyes demonstrated a mind of their own as she felt them wandering off to the pale, well-built man - _machine!_ she chided herself - at the science computer, only a few steps away from her post.

Quickly, she focused her attention on her console. For goodness' sake, why did he have to be at the damned science computer at this very moment! Why wasn't he safely at the helm where he spent most of his time, and where she could at least keep an eye on what he was up to?

She felt his gaze burning on her back. Surely he was undressing her with his eyes. It was unnerving. Carefully she glanced over her shoulder. And as quickly turned back, with her cheeks burning. Sure thing he was looking at her. Though his expression stroke her more as apprehensive than as lustful.

She closed her eyes and let out a quiet sigh. Better deal with this right here, right now. They'd have to work together a lot in the upcoming years, so she'd better make sure that he understood it was all a mistake. A mistake brought on by that virus from the Tsiolkovsky, and nothing more than that.

With embarrassed determination she turned and crossed the few meters that were between them. And demanded his attention in a tone that tolerated no discussion: "Data."

He turned to face her only now, with that blank expression she had already seen quite often lately. _'Even better,'_ it flashed through her mind_. 'He's an android. A machine. He won't mind - he's got no feelings to hurt.'_

That realization made it at least a trifle easier to say what she had to say. "I'm only going to tell you this, just once," she said in a low voice, lest the whole bridge was interested. Only to continue with a stern: "It never happened."

As she hastily turned back to her station, she still caught sight of his puzzled frown. And scolded herself. Tell a computer to _forget_ something? She could already hear his innocent: "Inquiry. What never happened?" And her having to spell out for him that she meant their having had sex for several hours under the influence of that blasted virus. With the rest of the crew politely pretending not to be listening, but savouring every word of it nonetheless: their tough Security Chief had had sex with their Lieutenant Commander! The android, of all people! She could easily imagine the gossip such news would evoke in a small community like the Enterprise. And she repressed a shudder.

Fortunately, the Captain forestalled Data's embarrassing 'inquiry' for now by addressing the whole crew. "I put it to you all: I think we shall end up with a fine crew." A short pause. Then, quietly: "If we avoid temptation."

Once more her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. And anger. How could the Captain possibly know? Had Data...?

A quick glance over her shoulder. No. Data looked rather puzzled, as if he was at a total loss about the Captain's remark. But still: no 'inquiry' from his side.

So much the better. If they'd just avoid mentioning the entire subject, they should be able to heartily forget about it, and work together the way they were supposed to. Just pretend nothing had happened between them. She and Data were mere mates. Colleagues, who had been working together for no more than a few weeks. That was all.

And as Commander Riker ordered the course to their next destination, she focused her attention on her console. _It never happened._ Now all she had to do was getting the entire episode out of her mind.

Right?

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_Credit where credit is due: this chapter is a transcript from one of the final scenes of the episode "The Naked Now", written by J. Michael Bingham and John D. F. Black. The only thing I've added is an interpretation of Tasha's feelings on the occasion. I promise: the following chapters will exist of more original material! _


	2. Memories of what never happened

She hastily left the bridge as soon as her shift ended, avoiding all non-professional questions that might be asked. At least she wouldn't have to face Data - yet; their android Lt. Commander always worked two shifts a day, since he didn't sleep. Nor lose concentration.

She sighed as the turbolift took her down to the holodecks. During the uneventful rest of her shift she had had ample time to think. What she needed now was a thorough work-out, to get her mind off things. And after that...

Yes. After that, she was physically exhausted, having pushed her body to the limit and beyond for hours, even more than she usually did. But at least it had cleared out the cobwebs in her head. And when she got back to her quarters, the first thing she did was throwing the bed-clothes, as well as all the clothes she'd been wearing today, in the cleaning unit. She put on a clean uniform, and made her bed with crispy clean sheets. "There. See? It never happened."

She dropped down on the immaculate bed and closed her eyes. She was dead beat after this rollercoaster of a day, but her mind was far too occupied to have a go at an early night.

"It never happened," she told herself again.

But flashes of what had happened - or rather _not_ happened - on this very bed that afternoon kept jumping to her mind.

It had been so different from what she had always known. Her experiences with sexual intercourse all dated back to her youth at Turkana IV. To the rapegangs that had gotten to her a few times. To her, having sex meant being the victim of brutal force. Abuse, violence, pain, fear. Feeling helpless and vulnerable. Lonely. Scared.

When she had come to Earth, and later enrolled in Starfleet Academy, she had been appalled to learn that so many fellow humans regarded sexual intercourse as a joy. The ultimate joy even. Even the women! That was something totally beyond her grasp, and wary to be forced into such a situation herself, she had been careful to keep men - _any man_ - at a safe personal distance. She'd allow them to be mates, but never more than that. In fact, she'd rather fight to the death than to find herself manoeuvered into such a vulnerable position, ever again.

Vulnerable.

Data hadn't manoeuvered her into anything: she herself had offered her body to him. All due to that blasted virus of course, but still... Even now, hours later, she was still amazed at the glory of their intercourse. He had been so gentle, so intent upon accommodating her wishes. No brutality, no violence, no abuse. _She_ had been the one in charge, and he had simply followed wherever she led. No sense of helplessness. Vulnerability, yes, but for the first time in her life, she had felt secure with a man. Secure that he wouldn't hurt her.

And definitely no feelings of loneliness. Or fear.

For a moment, she allowed herself to revel in the memory of the marvel she had felt, with his gentle hands caressing her. His soft kisses. His gentleness at entering her body. The passionate rhythm they had shared, over and over again. If _this _was what sexual intercourse among civilized people was supposed to be, then perhaps it wasn't so bad after all.

"But it still never happened," she told herself once more. After all, Data was not even human. She had to keep reminding herself. That's why it had worked so well: he was a machine, designed to fulfill human needs of all different kinds - that was more or less how he put it. Clearly he had adapted himself to her every wish, but she sincerely doubted such consideration to be found in any male of real flesh and blood.

No. Although she felt rather embarrassed about the whole situation, she was grateful to Data for having shown her that sexual intercourse could indeed be pleasant. Very pleasant even. Extremely pleasant. Marvellous! But she still had no inclination whatsoever to try this out with other, human partners. That could only spoil today's glorious memory.

She chuckled. Yeah, right. The memory of an event that supposedly never happened.

Oh well. As long as no one referred to it, or forced her to talk about it, the event itself had been pleasant enough to merit a few memories. Private ones.

And the only occasion in which it would reasonably come up was the unlikely event of her hitting it off with Data for real. And since Data - sweet and kind of cute he may be - was an android, a machine, and thus devoid of emotions and feelings, the chances of them developing an intimate relationship were less than zero. With a little luck he would have erased the whole thing from his memory by now. And if he hadn't, she was pretty sure his integrity would prevent him from ever mentioning it again - unless _she_ did.

And that was definitely the last thing she had in mind.

Not even to Counselor Troi.


	3. The result of what never happened

The incessantly annoying beep of the Enterprise's alarm clock system penetrated the mists of her sleeping mind. She groaned. Not quite awake yet, she reached out to slam the snooze function. Just a few more minutes before... A few more minutes to force her unwilling mind to wake up. To drag her body to the shower, get a bite to eat, get dressed and...

What was wrong with her anyway? She used to be an extreme morning person, but lately she barely managed to drag herself out of bed in time to make it to the bridge for her shift! And in the evening, she slept as soon as her head touched the pillows – no matter what time it was.

Perhaps a lack of real sunlight? But she had travelled in space for years without any such trouble. And the Enterprise had only been underway for a good two months.

Still, some sun might do her good. Maybe she could do her exercise on a sunny beach today.

Or maybe just take a nap on that beach – which actually sounded far more palatable right now.

Just as she absentmindedly visualized a quiet, sunny beach, the alarm clock sounded again. And another groan escaped her throat. But she knew she had to get up now. Otherwise she'd have to skip the shower. And of lately, that was her only means of showing up on the bridge in a reasonably alert state.

Moaning, she pushed herself up – only to be hit by a wave of nausea. Instinctively she swallowed it down, and eased herself onto the side of the bed. What the heck...? She still had to open her eyes yet, but right now the first thing at hand was to regain control over her reeling stomach. What the heck had she been eating yesterday? Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as she recalled. Then why this sudden attack of nausea?

Finally the immediate urge to empty her stomach the wrong way up subsided somewhat, and cautiously she opened her eyes and got up. Only to quickly collapse onto the bed again as the whole room swayed about.

Burying her head in her hands, she moaned loudly. Since when did she get _sick_? She _hated_ being sick. In fact, she hated any sign of physical weakness in herself, and would go to great lengths to cover up for whatever weaknesses there were.

But apparently it was not to be helped this morning. Her head was still spinning; her stomach was still primed to empty itself, and altogether she felt utterly weak and miserable. In the state she was in right now, there was no way she could possibly guarantee the ship's safety. Better call in and let them know she'd be heading for sickbay first. First time for everything obviously. But with a bit of luck, one of Dr. Crusher's magical potions would end this agony in the blink of an eye, and she'd only be a little late for duty. No harm done.

She reached for her communicator and – after swallowing down another wave of nausea – called the bridge. "Lieutenant Yar to bridge." She cleared her throat. Even her voice sounded sick.

"Riker here. Go ahead."

She took a deep, steadying breath before conveying the unnerving admission of her weakness. "I'll be in a little later this morning. Got a little problem that I'd prefer to let the doctor have a look at before I go on duty."

Fortunately, the Commander took it in stride. "Alright. Take your time, Lieutenant. We'll manage."

"Thanks. Yar out."

A sigh. It was no use putting it off: the sooner she got up and got to sickbay, the sooner she would be her old self again. Tough. Cool. In charge.

But the moment she got up, the nausea took over completely, and all she could do was dash to the bathroom as fast as she could.

It wasn't until her stomach had emptied itself completely before she ventured to get up again, and shakily stagger to the living-room to order a glass of water from the food dispenser. Slowly she lowered herself onto the couch. Her teeth chattered against the glass as she took slow little gulps to rinse away the sour taste in her mouth.

She couldn't remember ever having felt this sick. In fact, she still felt sick. Better get to sickbay asap to have this sorted out. She just prayed it wasn't something serious that would confine her to bed. She thrived on action – and never having been forced to allow herself to be sick before, the mere thought of being confined to something as small and dull as a bed made her feel claustrophobic.

Carefully, prepared in case she'd have to rush to the bathroom again, she got up to get dressed. Her stomach contracted uneasily, but as long as she moved about slowly, it held. And a few minutes later she was on her way to sickbay.

The turbolift proved to be a renewed attack on both her stomach and her affected sense of balance, but fortunately she had the lift to herself, so she could recover her equilibrium sufficiently before stepping out into the corridor that led to sickbay.

Dr. Crusher looked up from her computer as she entered the office. "Tasha? What's wrong?"

She made a weak attempt at a smile. "I'm not feeling too well."

"Yes. Well, I can see _that_." Dr. Crusher got up and guided her to an examination table. "So what is the problem?"

Carefully, Tasha lay down on the table. "I woke up feeling a little sick. And I still am, despite emptying my stomach. And..." She sighed. "I got a little dizzy as well." Her cynical side grinned at how she automatically downplayed the whole thing.

"This dizziness, was that before or after you emptied your stomach?"

"Both."

"I see." Dr. Crusher got out her tricorder, and Tasha waited meekly as she checked her out. The doctor covered her entire body, but it was somewhere in the belly area that she apparently found something of interest. More checking out, and then changing some of the settings on the tricorder and back to her lower belly for what seemed to be a recheck.

And Dr. Crusher couldn't help a little smile as she put away the tricorder and ordered a plate of plain biscuits from the nearby food dispenser. "Here. Eat them while you're still lying down. You'll feel a lot better once you've got something in your stomach again."

Tasha groaned. "Cookies? Doc, _please_! The mere idea of food... of eating _anything_... it's..." She shuddered as she felt her stomach convulse, and turned away. "Revolting..."

"I know," the doctor acknowledged with a wry smile. "But believe it or not: I guarantee that already with the first bite you'll feel better. So eat them," she ordered. "I'll be back in a minute."

Apprehensively, Tasha took a biscuit. Her stomach was doing somersaults – how could she ever be expected to get _anything_ down?

But if that's what the doctor ordered...? She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and bit off a tiny little corner. Chewing without trying to taste anything, holding her breath in order not to register the nauseating stench of cookies... and then she swallowed it with difficulty, half expecting it to come right back up again.

But it didn't. Another little bite went down, and another. And before she had finished the first biscuit, she realized that her nausea indeed began to subside. Weird. But as long as it worked... Though she did feel strangely annoyed to discover that her spell of weakness could be remedied by something as simple as a cookie.

By the time Dr. Crusher returned, she had nearly finished the biscuits, and the doctor gave her an encouraging smile. "Feeling better?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact I am." She sighed in frustration. "Though I can't say that I understand how that's possible."

"I'll tell you in a moment." She injected something into her arm. "That will take care of the dizziness. Now you finish that last biscuit, and then we need to talk."

Tasha frowned. "What's wrong with me, doc? I don't recall _ever_ having been this sick in my life!" She put the last piece of biscuit in her mouth and cautiously pushed herself up in a sitting position.

Nothing happened. No dizziness, no nausea.

She slid down onto the floor next and stood up straight. Still nothing.

"How are you feeling?" Dr. Crusher inquired.

"Fine. Never felt better." To be honest, there was still a slightly unsettled feeling in her stomach, but that was a trifle compared to the misery she had woken up with. At least not something that would stop her from functioning at a hundred percent.

But Dr. Crusher raised her eyebrows in obviously faked innocence. "Really? Are you sure?"

And Tasha scowled in return. "Of course I'm sure."

"Good. Then come into the office for a moment. We need to talk."

"But I'm fine!" Tasha insisted as she followed their Chief Medical Officer into the secluded area of the office. "Come on, doc! If a few cookies can cure me, it can't be that serious, can it?"

But Dr. Crusher sat down at her desk, and after a few moments of battling stares, Tasha – impatient as she may be – realized the doctor would not answer her question until she sat down, too. And exasperated, she fell down in the opposite chair.

"Come on, doc. I'm feeling fine now, thanks to your cookies. But I need to get to the bridge."

"Tasha." Dr. Crusher seemed to have trouble finding the words. Instead, she put a comforting hand on Tasha's forearm. But Tasha had never been comfortable with physical contact, and drew back right away.

Dr. Crusher sighed, and instead gave her a careful smile. "Tasha, you're pregnant."


	4. Upset about what never happened

For a moment the whole world seemed to turn upside down, and she had to grab the table top in order not to fall out of her chair. But as soon as the feeling passed, she echoed bleakly: "Pregnant?"

Dr. Crusher nodded silently.

Tasha shook her head as in a daze. "How is that possible...?" she mumbled.

Dr. Crusher watched her quietly. Women tended to react in very different ways upon receiving this news. Tasha seemed mainly shocked. And utterly incredulous. And when her eyes focused again, she was just a scared little girl, pleading to be reassured that what she had just been told wasn't true. That it was only a stupid joke. Or a nightmare. Or whatever else, as long as it wasn't true.

"Please, doc. I _can't_ be. It's not possible. Isn't it?"

Dr. Crusher held her eyes. "I'm sorry, Tasha, but there's no doubt about it. Possible or not: you're pregnant."

A shudder went through her as those words sank in. "_Pregnant_..." She clenched her fists, and fixed her gaze upon the doctor, as if by conjuring her she could get her to change her mind. "It can't be. It _can't _be!"

Suddenly a hot flash of fury rushed through her veins and she jumped to her feet, her eyes flashing. "I'm gonna _kill_ him! Why didn't he...!"

Before Dr. Crusher knew what happened, Tasha had knocked over the chair and stormed out of the office. She rose quickly and started after her. "Tasha?" But by the time she had reached the corridor, Tasha was nowhere to be seen.

She touched the computer panel next to the door. "Computer, give me the location of Lieutenant Yar."

"Lieutenant Yar is in turbolift 2."

"What is the lift's destination?"

"The lift's destination is the bridge."

"Oh my..." Dr. Crusher bit her lip. What on earth was Tasha up to?

But then the computer said: "Correction: the lift's destination is now the officer's deck."

That was only slightly better. "Computer, inform me as soon as Lieutenant Yar leaves the corridors."

She touched her communicator. "Dr. Crusher to Counselor Troi. Please report to sickbay. On the double!"

"On my way," came Deanna's quick answer. And at the same time the computer reported: "Lieutenant Yar has entered her quarters."

Well, at least that was better than killing off one of her colleagues in blind rage. The father of the child no doubt – whoever that may be.

She sighed. Her heart went out to their young Chief of Security. How old was she – late twenties, early thirties? She still recalled how frightened she – a doctor of medicine no less – had been the day she found out she was pregnant with Wesley. Happy, oh yes, but scared all the same. Tasha was definitely no exception.

And there was Deanna. "Doctor?"

Dr. Crusher led the way into her office, where they could talk without being overheard. She quickly informed the counselor of the news and of Tasha's reaction.

Deanna's only sign of surprise was a slight raising of the eyebrows, but she said: "Of course. I'll go and see her right away."

* * *

Anger. Anger and fear. And despair. So much for leaving Turkana IV...

Going to Earth, catching up on education, Starfleet Academy, years of service, and now that she got the job of her dreams, on the most prestigious ship of the entire fleet no less... she just got pregnant!

She didn't want to, she really didn't want to, but tears started falling. And once they started to fall, she discovered she just couldn't stop. As if the plug had been pulled out of a leak.

Anger, fear, frustration, despair... They were all running rampant in her mind as she battled to regain control. _A Chief of Security doesn't cry_, she told herself. Especially not a tough one called Lieutenant Yar. Grown up in the gutter, a mere unplanned pregnancy was nothing to get upset about.

Or so she insisted.

But to no avail. Long howls, and violent sobs kept finding their way out. How could this... this disaster have happened? How could her life have spun so out of control?

She just began cursing all of Starfleet, and Data, and the fate that had brought them to work together here, and that damned virus, and... as she suddenly became aware of a soothing hand on her back. She stiffened instantly, in her alarm finally managing to choke back her sobs in a more effective manner.

Why hadn't she heard the door? Who could...?

She rolled away from the hand and sat up. It was Counselor Troi. _Who else_, she thought, instantly annoyed.

Immediately she put her shields up, and wiped her face with the sleeve of her uniform. What she really didn't need right now was for their counselor to go prying around in her mind. And with the sheer force of her will she managed to keep her shoulders from jerking as a proof of more sobs wanting out.

"It's good to cry out one's frustrations every now and then," Troi said gently.

Tasha just glared at her. She liked Deanna well enough – as a person. What she _didn't_ like was the compassionate, yet pedantic air she often took on once she was playing counselor.

Deanna kept a compassionate gaze on her. "Dr. Crusher told me the news," she probed.

But Tasha averted her eyes, and pulled up her knees and hugged them tight to her chest.

"Would you care to talk about it? Just to help you sort it out?"

"No!" Tasha snapped. "And stop prying around in my mind!"

"I'm not," Deanna replied quietly. "But your feelings are so strong – they just jump out at me. Your frustration, your anger, your fear..."

"Stop it!" Tasha jumped up and started pacing, if only to hide that she had to fight back her tears again. From one wall to another in the small bedroom. Tension showed in her every muscle. _Like a trapped animal_, Troi thought. _Desperately searching for an escape route. And not finding any. Not finding any escape at all._

She watched her pace in silence. Her professional dealings with Lieutenant Yar had been much like walking a tightrope. Since the very first day they'd met, Tasha had defiantly closed her mind for her. Occasionally she was granted a small glimpse, but one wrong word from her, and unvariably she was shut out completely.

Of course she knew about Tasha's past. Only too vividly did she recall the agony, the horror she had felt when she had acquainted herself with those files. And it was only natural for the girl to have built up such a heavy defense system. Locking away the things she couldn't deal with had been her means of psychological survival in the hell of Turkana IV. Her _only_ means of survival. And not all of Starfleet's training and experience had been able to convince her otherwise. One wrong word from her now, and Tasha would simply flee.

To be honest, she was surprised – and worried – that she hadn't fled from her _yet_. It only enforced her impression that she really did need her help this time.

Suddenly Tasha turned to face her. "What exactly did Dr. Crusher tell you?" she demanded.

Deanna took a deep breath. "Merely that you are pregnant, and that you were very upset when you left her office."

A derisive snort. "Well, how would _you_ feel if you've just had your life turned upside down." She started pacing again. "My work, my life gone to blazes, and all because of some spooky virus! I know life isn't fair, but this...!" She shook her head with a fierce jerk, but suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks.

And there, seeping through the protective shields, Deanna felt a sudden confusion. And growing apprehension. "Tasha?" she ventured.

Slowly, Tasha turned to face her. "Deanna... you're half Betazoid, right?"

Deanna nodded, shamelessly trying to make sense of the nervous thoughts that were jumping out at her from Lieutenant Yar's racing mind. Something was very wrong. And it involved Lt. Commander Data.

"And Betazoids... I've never met a real one. Are they made of flesh and blood? Like us... like humans?"

Another nod. And as Deanna watched her carefully wrestle her way through a jumble of emotions, she herself suddenly realized how the fragments from Tasha's thoughts pieced together. And only her many years of experience kept her from gasping out loud.

Instead she prompted: "Tasha?"

Slowly, Tasha looked up. All anger and despair were gone; there was just... bewilderment in her eyes. "Deanna," she breathed apprehensively. "Deanna, if I'm indeed pregnant... _if_ I am... then... how can a human... and a... an _android_... ever mix, and become one?"

Deanna just looked at her, not knowing what to say, and just trying very hard not to appear as aghast as she felt.

"They can't complement each other, can they? Function together?"

Plain fear was now creeping into Tasha's voice, and Deanna knew she had to say _something_, even if this was way out of her field. "I don't know. I truly don't know, Tasha, but apparently they can."

"But bloodvessels and electronic circuits! They can't intertwine!" A slight edge of panic began to seep into her voice, but all Deanna could do was repeat what she had just pointed out: "I don't know, but apparently they can. At least so far."

All she got in return was a look of dread, so she continued in a reassuring tone: "But I'm sure Dr. Crusher will be able to figure it out. Find out if the baby's system is based on an electronic circuit or on the human nervous system. Or something in between. And..." She hesitated. His name had not been mentioned yet, but... "I suppose she can learn a lot from studying Mr. Data's reproductive system as well." For Pete's sake, how could an android even get a girl pregnant in the first place?

But Tasha groaned. "Maybe I should just save myself and Dr. Crusher a whole lot of trouble and have it aborted." She fell down on the bed again and raked ten fingers through her short hair. And then pulled it. Hard.

"Maybe." Deanna's tone was very grave now. "But Tasha, right now you're shocked, and very upset. This is not a good time to make such a far-reaching and irreversible decision. Besides..." She reached out to provide a little physical comfort – Tasha looked so lost. But she caught herself just in time. "Besides, an abortion often leads to severe psychological traumas for the mother."

Tasha merely scowled, and her face hardened. The subject of traumas was simply not open for discussion.

And Deanna sighed. Clearly, the shields were up again in full force. With barbed wire fences and _No Entry_ signs to enforce them. "Tasha," she began.

"What about my work?" Tasha deftly forestalled her continuing the subject. "I don't want to lose this job because of this... this pregnancy. But a Chief of Security with a big baby belly?"

Deanna had a mild smile. The avoiding strategy was hideously obvious, but she went along with it for now. "You won't have a big baby belly overnight. And there is such a thing as maternity leave, remember? Even in Starfleet: you have your baby, and once you've recovered you get your old job back."

"But will the Captain still let me go on missions, do you think? On away teams?"

Deanna shrugged. "That I don't know. That's up to him to decide. And to Dr. Crusher."

They sat silent for a long moment, and as Tasha pulled up her knees to her chin again, Deanna contemplated that this was by far the most fruitful encounter she had ever had with this battered human turtle.

However, there was still something the Lieutenant had alluded to that had piqued her interest. "Tasha..." she prodded tentatively. "This whole situation, is it an aftermath of that intoxicating virus we had on board a few weeks ago?"

Tasha nodded without looking up. Deanna watched her patiently, hesitant to prompt her any further. And it worked.

"I was one of the first who got infected. And when the Captain learned of the state I was in, he sent Data over to escort me to sickbay. But the poor guy never got the chance: I seduced him on the spot and got him to... well, you get the point." Suddenly she giggled. "He may be an android, but I can tell you one thing, Deanna: emotions or not, he's a darned good lover!"


	5. Questions about what never happened

Dr. Crusher's surprise and alarm were exactly what Deanna had anticipated: "_Data_! I didn't even know he could reproduce himself!"

"Still, that's what Tasha says. But it seems she wasn't aware of it either. And knowing Data's general honest nature, I even wonder if he himself is aware of it. You'd think he would have warned her."

"But are you sure it's Data? I mean: are you sure that _Tasha_ is sure it's Data?"

"He is the only man on her mind."

Dr. Crusher collapsed in her chair. "Oh my... This could complicate things. Big time."

Deanna nodded. "That's one of Tasha's worries, too: how can bloodvessels and electronic circuits function complementary?"

"And that's only one of the many," Dr. Crusher muttered. "I'm going to have to do some serious research here." She looked up. "But I'd like to speak to Tasha, too. Do you think she's calmed down enough for some questions?"

"I think so, yes," Deanna responded. "But she expressed the wish to be left alone for a while. To think, she said."

Dr. Crusher sighed. "I think I can only respect that under the circumstances."

"But I think you should warn you: she's already contemplating abortion," Deanna added.

"I can see why." Another sigh. "But I'm afraid she's in no condition to make that decision at the moment."

"I agree."

Dr. Crusher gave her a tired smile. "Thanks, Deanna. I'll see if I can catch Data then." She pulled out the duty roster. "His shift ends at 2 p.m. When you get back at the bridge, could you please ask him to drop by me as soon as he's off duty?"

* * *

Dr. Crusher spent most of the morning at her computer, acquainting and reacquainting herself with the particulars of blending the human race with other life forms, and more specifically with artificial life forms. The results of the latter were far from promising, but then there was no documented case of a _naturally_ conceived semi-artificial life. So who knows: perhaps it might just work out after all?

Around midday she went up to the officer's deck to look in on Lieutenant Yar. She found her at her private computer, poring over the same reports she herself had spent the morning with.

"Not much hope, is there," Tasha commented, pointing at the screen, and Dr. Crusher was secretly relieved to detect a hint of regret in her voice. After all, her job was meant to preserve life, not to take it.

"I wouldn't say that," she therefore countered cheerfully. "You've already come further than most of those attempts, so why not even further?"

Tasha looked doubtful.

But Dr. Crusher cut down to business. "Tasha, we need to talk."

"Sure." Tasha gestured to the couch, and the doctor sat down.

"Tasha, I'm sorry I have to ask you this, but... are you _absolutely certain_ that Data is the father?"

Tasha merely nodded.

"There's no doubt about it? No doubt at all?" she pressed.

Tasha shook her head, and pulled up her legs under her. But suddenly she stood, and moved over to gaze out of the window, where the stars were shooting by like little rainbows. Her fists kept clenching and unclenching, and although she couldn't see her face, it was obvious to the doctor that some major battle was being fought here. But she kept silent, patiently waiting for Tasha to make up her mind about whatever it was that was tormenting her.

Finally, Tasha spoke. "Doc, I presume you know about my past, right? You've read the files."

"Yes," was the simple answer.

"If I tell you something in confidence, as a friend..." Tasha still had her gaze fixed on the void outside. "Can I trust you that it will stay off the record, no matter what it is? That you won't tell Counselor Troi, or anyone else? And it won't end up in my files?"

Dr. Crusher hesitated for just a moment. It sounded like something major; could she really...? But then she decided that she had no choice. "Yes, Tasha. I promise that whatever you tell me here, it will not be passed on to anyone else, in any way."

Tasha turned to face her, and gave her a pained little smile. Then she turned back to the window, and it was several minutes before she quietly revealed: "The medical information in my file is incomplete."

Dr. Crusher remained silent, waiting for her to go on.

And after another few long minutes, she did: "I have never mentioned this to anyone, but under the present circumstances, I think you should know." A deep breath. "I've been pregnant before."

Silence.

"You know that the rapegangs have gotten to me a few times. And one of those times – when I was fourteen – I ended up pregnant."

"I am sorry," was all Dr. Crusher said. In a way, the news didn't even surprise her.

"I was terrified," Tasha continued, struggling to maintain an unperturbed composure. "As a kid, I had witnessed up close how a young girl like myself had died in labour after days of pain and agony. I didn't want to go through that. But..." A shaky breath. "I lost the baby in a miscarriage."

Dr. Crusher let the words sink in. "And you never told anyone." It was a statement, not a question.

Tasha nodded – Dr. Crusher noticed how she tried to mask her pain with a grim, set jaw. And quite successfully, too. Surely she had had lots of practice in it.

"With such experiences from my youth in mind, I don't think it will surprise you that I've avoided all sexual contact since I left Turkana IV. I haven't had _any_ sexual intercourse since I was fifteen. The only exception is that one time a few weeks back, with Data, when I was under the influence of that Tsiolkovsky virus. So there's simply no other option: if I'm pregnant, then he _must _be the father."

Dr. Crusher nodded. "I understand. And I'm glad you told me. I promise you: this information won't go any further."

Tasha just kept gazing out the window. And Dr. Crusher sensed it had taken her an awful lot of courage to dig up this episode. And on top of that reveal it to someone. And she wondered. If Tasha had managed to keep a trauma like _this_ from every counselor at the Academy and all the ones she had encountered during her many years of service in Starfleet... were there perhaps other things that she still stubbornly kept to herself?

However, this was not the time to speculate on that. Nor to prod any further. She'd have to be content – and grateful – with the morsel she got, and besides: there were more pressing matters at hand.

"The reason I pressed you about this," she explained quietly, "is that I'm rather puzzled about the child you're carrying. I would like to do a recheck to make sure, but the readings I got this morning seem to indicate that the child is completely human."

Tasha looked up with a start. "What? How is that possible?"

"I don't know. But I do know that the tricorder would have picked up anomalies in case it was developing some sort of positronic brain. Or an electronic circuit for a nervous system."

Tasha sat completely quiet, trying to digest this news.

"Tasha, would you mind if I check again?" Dr. Crusher ventured. "Of course the tricorder should have shown, but I wasn't _looking_ for anything androidic. I'd like to double-check, just to make sure."

"Yes. Yes, of course!" Tasha turned to her, and Dr. Crusher did several readings in different settings on her. But in the end she shook her head. "Entirely human. That is: up till now. But I have to be honest with you: since naturally conceived semi-android life is completely unprecedented, there's no way of telling how it will develop in the upcoming months. But so far, all indications suggest that you're carrying an ordinary human embryo. And..." She smiled. "It's doing very well, too."

With a heavy sigh, Tasha buried her face in her hands. "So there's nothing wrong with me."

"Well, not quite." Dr. Crusher had a wry smile. "Without any proof of input from Data's side, there's still the puzzle of how you got pregnant in the first place. The embryo's stage of development does indeed indicate that it was conceived around the time we were affected by the Tsiolkovsky virus. But with the way things look now, I can't even rule out immaculate conception."

A cynical grin spread over Tasha's face, but she sobered again right away. "So what's going to happen now?"

"First of all," Dr. Crusher tapped on her pad. "Do you have any contraceptive devices inside your body that we need to take care of?"

Tasha shook her head. "That might have been practical, yes, but I didn't dare to – afraid as I was that they'd discover..." She let the sentence hanging, and the doctor understood. But Tasha continued with a chuckle: "Instead I developed my own methods. Have you never wondered why I'm so adamant to excel in every possible fighting technique? I didn't trust _any_ man, and I wanted to be ready, to make mince meat of any guy that got a little too bold with me."

Dr. Crusher couldn't help but laugh. "Understandable. Still, I pity your more sincere admirers."

Tasha chuckled, a little embarrassed now. "Yeah, well... I wouldn't let them be more than mates anyway. Anything more intimate was too... threatening for me."

_If you ask me,__ it still is_, Dr. Crusher thought, but that was a notion she wisely kept to herself. Instead she said: "Well, then I'm first going to have a serious talk with Mr. Data, to find out all I can about his reproductive system. After all, he still is the prime suspect. Or..." She hesitated. "Would you rather tell him yourself? In that case..."

Tasha pondered this for a moment, but then she shook her head. "I'd rather have you talk to him first."

"Okay, I will. And then, depending on the information he provides, I'll probably have to do some more research. But you do realize that I'll have to inform the Captain of this, don't you?"

Tasha bit her lip as she nodded. "I know."

"And as for you..." She gave her a long serious look. "I hereby order you off duty till midday tomorrow as well – I want to see how those spells of dizziness and nausea develop. (_And give you at least a few more hours to get used to the idea..._) And word of the wise: make sure you have a handful of plain biscuits within reach tomorrow morning, just in case."

Tasha smiled weakly. The thought of a recurrence of this morning's misery was not exactly appealing.

But Dr. Crusher continued: "For the rest I can pretty much say: listen to your body. I know you like to push yourself, but I strongly advise that you take it a bit easy on your exercise from now on. And whenever you're tired, allow yourself a nap as far as your duty permits. And stay clear from synthehol."

Tasha grimaced. "With so many restrictions, you might as well confine me to sickbay right away."

Dr. Crusher chuckled. "You better heed my advice, young lady, or I will!"

They both laughed, but suddenly Tasha's merriment turned into tears. "Oh doc, what am I going to do...?"

And without thinking, Dr. Crusher took her in her arms. "It's okay, Tasha. You'll be alright."

"But I'm so... so..." It was _so_ difficult to admit, even in this oddly comforting embrace... "Scared..."

"I know. And there's nothing strange about that. I, too, was scared out of my wits when I was pregnant with Wesley. It's part of becoming a parent, I suppose."

Hesitantly, Tasha untangled herself from the doctor's soothing arms. "Doc?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything you want."

Tasha brushed away her tears. And then, tentatively: "Can you tell me about the time you were pregnant with Wesley?"

Dr. Crusher only just managed to quell her laugh, and looked at her watch. "Well, I'm meeting Mr. Data in forty minutes, so until then... What do you want to know?"

"Everything!"


	6. A theory on what never happened

"Data! I hope you've not been waiting long?"

The android turned to face her as she rushed into her office. "Not at all, Dr. Crusher. I have only been waiting for six minutes, twenty-six seconds and three hundred and seventy-one milliseconds."

She bit back her chuckle at his precision. "Still too long. My apologies." Dr. Crusher sat down at her desk, and Data followed her example.

"Apologies accepted, doctor." He tilted his head a little. "May I inquire why you asked to see me? Geordi suggested that perhaps you needed help in locating the biomedical texts in which I am mentioned. I have already..."

"No, Data," she interrupted him. "That's not why I wanted to see you. Though now that you mention it, those references might actually be helpful."

He regarded her with blank curiosity. "Then why, may I ask, did you send for me?"

"Data..." My, this wasn't exactly easy. Medschool was supposed to be excessively broad and thorough; so how come they didn't prepare you on how to discuss fatherhood with an android? "What I'm going to tell you... to discuss with you here today is strictly confidential. Until further notice, this should not be mentioned to _anyone_, save for me, Counselor Troi, Lieutenant Yar, and yourself. Is that understood?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Will you give me your word?"

A frown. "Inquiry: which word?"

"I mean: do I have your promise that you won't share this information with anyone else besides the four people I just mentioned?"

"Yes, doctor." Only to continue: "But how can I give you my word? A word is an abstract term; I cannot take a word in my hand and give it to you. And what use would you..."

Dr. Crusher held out her hands to stop the flow. "Idiom, Mr. Data. Can you please save those questions for some other time, so that we can get on with the subject now?"

"Yes, doctor." A slight movement of the head. "Most intriguing though. A promise consists of words. But not every word is a promise. Interesting."

"Mr. Data, _please_!"

"Oh. I apologize, doctor. Please carry on."

"Good. Thank you."

"You are welcome."

To be honest, she was already getting exasperated with him. And she hadn't even begun to give him the news!

Better get on with it. And avoid idioms as much as possible.

"Data, Lieutenant Yar came to see me this morning, and I established that she's pregnant." She hesitated. "Are you at all acquainted with that term?"

"Of course, doctor. To be pregnant: to be expecting, to be with child, to be in the family way, to be enceinte. In humanoids, as well as in most other living species in this universe, including its fauna, in its natural occurrence it is a state reserved only to females."

She nearly burst out laughing at his encyclopedic description, but she managed to keep a straight face. "Yes. That's right. And the reason that I've asked to see you is, that according to Lieutenant Yar, you are the only one she's had sexual activity with over the past seventeen years. And judging by the embryo's present development stage, the approximate date of the embryo's conception coincides with the day she had that sexual intercourse with you."

She waited for a reaction, but all she got was a flat: "It never happened."

"I beg your pardon?"

And Data simply repeated in the same tone: "It never happened."

"What do you mean: 'it never happened'?" This could get complicated. And embarrassing... "Do you mean to tell me that Lieutenant Yar _hasn't _had sex with you?"

"No." Data frowned. "I must say I am rather confused now, doctor. According to my own memory banks, I have had sexual intercourse with Lieutenant Yar for two hours, forty-four minutes and one second during the afternoon – Standard Time – of March the 17th last."

Dr. Crusher watched him expectantly, trying not be too amused by his overaccurate precision.

"Yet Lieutenant Yar told me on that same day, thirty-seven minutes and eighteen seconds after we concluded our intercourse, that it never happened. And now _you_, Dr. Crusher, tell me that Lieutenant Yar insists that I _did_ have sexual intercourse with her at a certain point in the recent past. Yet I have no knowledge of any other occurrence of such an event, other than the occasion she told me did not happen. How is that possible, doctor?"

Dr. Crusher smiled. "Combining your story with hers, I'm sure there's only been one occasion, Mr. Data: on March 17th last, when most of the crew was infected by the intoxicating virus from the Tsiolkovsky."

Data nodded, apparently relieved. "Yes. That is correct. So it did happen after all." He frowned. "But if Lieutenant Yar was aware of that as you say, then why would she tell me it never happened?"

Dr. Crusher smiled. "I suppose she was embarrassed. I think what she meant was that she didn't want you to talk about it."

"Ah. I see. It was a ploy to ensure that I would never mention it again. If it never happened, I would have no reason to mention it. Most intriguing."

"Yes. But to get back to the present problem: if you are indeed the father of the child she is carrying, then this situation is completely unprecedented. There is no way we can predict how this pregnancy is going to evolve. Nor how the child is going to develop. So far, the embryo appears to be entirely human. But being conceived by an android, it seems only logical to expect that it will develop androidic aspects as well." A pause. "Mr. Data, what can you tell me about your reproductive system?"

For a moment she got a blank stare. "Accessing..." Then: "I was not designed to reproduce myself the way humanoids do. My body does not produce sperm. However, I was designed to fulfill a broad variety of human needs, including sexual intercourse. I am fully functional in that area, though the fluid that is released in the process is ordinary waste H2O, possibly containing a small number of loose electronically charged particles."

It was Dr. Crusher's turn for a pensive: "I see." She folded her hands on the desk. "Mr. Data, I don't mean to be intrusive, but how often have you had sexual intercourse?"

"Only once, doctor. With Lieutenant Yar. I am not programmed to seek such activity myself. And neither before, nor after my intercourse with Lieutenant Yar has any humanoid expressed an interest in this service."

"Oh boy..."

He gave her a quizzical look. "Does this mean the information I just provided you with is not helpful in solving the problem?"

Dr. Crusher sighed. "You can say that again."

Without a blink he started: "Does this mean the information I just..."

Her first reflex was to cut him off, but then she thought the better of it, and instead replied him 'properly' this time. "I'm not sure, Data. Right now I don't see how your explanation can help me solve this problem. But I might be overlooking something. I'll need to think about it some more."

"I see."

"I would also like to examine a sample of your equivalent of sperm. Would you mind?"

"Not at all, doctor. I would be happy to oblige."

They walked out into the ward, and when the sample was taken, Data asked: "Dr. Crusher, would you be interested in hearing my theory on how Lieutenant Yar's child may have been conceived?"

She stared at him in astonishment. "Yes. Yes, of course! Please, go ahead!"

"Well, I have been cross referencing the information you have given me on the situation, and there are significant similarities between this case and the historical process of cloning."

Her jaw dropped. "Cloning?"

"Yes. Cloning is a primitive technique to duplicate life forms, discovered in the late 20th century, and perfected in the two centuries following. It was then abandoned because of the deterioration of..."

"Yes, yes, I know what cloning is. But how does that apply to Lieutenant Yar?"

"It all depends on whether the fluid I produce as the equivalent of sperm indeed contains electronically charged particles," Data started to explain. "The earliest moderately successful attempts at cloning were obtained by exposing the selected ovum to a minor electrical shock. The energy thus released into the ovum caused it to divide and duplicate itself. And once the first duplication was successful, the cells continued to duplicate themselves without further prompting in the same manner as naturally conceived new life. However, since no spermatozoon was used to trigger the process, the cells solely contained the DNA of the mother. Thus creating a copy, or a clone, of the mother."

Dr. Crusher nodded slowly. "I see where you're going."

Data looked around in confusion. "Going? I am not going anywhere, doctor."

She shook her head. "I mean the way your thought process is going. Basically, you're saying that if the fluid you release in your sexual intercourse indeed does contain electronically charged particles, then there is a possibility that these particles might set off a cell division when they come in contact with an ovum. Most intriguing, Mr. Data."

"Yes, it is, is it not?"

She smiled at him. "It is indeed. And if this is true, it would mean that the child Tasha is carrying is not part android, but a fully human clone of herself."

"Exactly."

"Well, let's see if we can find some proof for your intriguing theory then."

They walked over to the megamicroscope in the corner, and Dr. Crusher placed the small container with Data's fluid under the lens.

"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed as soon as the lens focused.

"What is the matter, doctor?" Data inquired.

"You better look for yourself. But for a working diagnosis I give you full marks!"

Data gave her a puzzled frown, and then decided he'd better take a look himself. "Oh my goodness!" he mimicked. "My sexual fluid is absolutely abundant with electronically charged particles, all jumping to and fro!"

Dr. Crusher sniggered. "Yes. I'm surprised Tasha didn't get electrocuted."

Data looked up with a frown. "Electrocuted?"

"Sorry, Data. It was a joke. And not a very good one. Please ignore it."

"I see." He cocked his head. "Still, though this does add credulity to my hypothesis, it does not prove it."

"No, you're right," Dr. Crusher conceded. "I'm afraid we won't have conclusive proof until the baby is born. But your theory is the only logical explanation so far. And by monitoring the baby's development closely, I hope to find more and more evidence to either support or dismiss your theory. At least it gives us something to go on."

She got no answer, for Data was clearly contemplating something else. "Doctor, under the present circumstances, would I still be considered the father of the child?"

Her face lit up in a warm smile. "Yes, Mr. Data. All the circumstances suggest that you are the only possible father of Lieutenant Yar's baby."

Data's mouth quirked a bit, in what the crew was beginning to recognize as his attempt at a smile.

"Does that make you happy?" the doctor inquired.

Data shook his head. "I do not know what it feels like to be happy. But I am..." He stopped, searching for the right word. "Proud. Proud that I have achieved something that I was neither designed nor programmed to achieve."

Dr. Crusher nodded. "I understand. Well, I think I do."

Data asked: "Is there anything else you wish to discuss with me, doctor? Otherwise I would like to go and share the good news with Lieutenant Yar." He cocked his head in wonder. "Most intriguing. I am going to be a father!"

Dr. Crusher smiled at his rapture – emotionless as it may be. "No, Mr. Data, that will be all. But before you go and see Tasha, I'd like you to have this." She took a small package out of her desk and threw it at him. He deftly caught it with one hand and inspected it with his innate curiosity.

"What is it?"

She gave him a mock stern gaze. "The next time a lady asks for your services, Mr. Data, please follow the standard human custom of using a condom!"

* * *

.

_Note: Please don't take Data's explanation of the cloning process at any scientific value. This is merely what I remember from an article I read many years ago, and since it suited this (fictional!) situation so perfectly, I saw no reason to bother checking up on it. _


	7. How to treat what never happened

Lt. Commander Data took the corridors with long strides. And even though he was supposed to be incapable of experiencing emotions, there was something excited in his air that caused many heads to turn and stare after him.

He had the turbolift to himself, and as it swiftly transported him up to the officer's deck, he repeated in awe: "I am going to be a father!"

Suddenly another thought occurred to him, and in a reflex he brought the lift to a halt. He tilted his head to the side. "Surely this is going to be a great opportunity for me to learn how to behave like a real human," he whispered to himself. "But how does a human behave on occasions like this? I should better do this properly, and seek advice on the proper behaviour for a prospective father prior to my visit to the prospective mother."

He put the lift into motion again. His first impulse was to go and discuss the matter with Commander Riker. But then he remembered he had promised Dr. Crusher – _given her his word_, he recalled with a touch of smug pride, though it was still a mystery to him as to which word he had given her – not to mention the situation to anyone save for herself, Lieutenant Yar, and... "Of course! Counselor Troi!" Surely she'd be able to help him sort this out!

His sounding her door-chimes was promptly answered by a professional "come in". And so he did.

Counselor Troi gave him a warm smile as she greeted him. "Hello Mr. Data."

"Greetings, Counselor," he returned, and then he started talking so fast that the mere sound made her ears tingle, and she could but make out a few random words of what he was telling her.

"Data! Mr. Data, stop! Please!" She held her hands over her ears in agony, and confused, Data stopped talking in what might very well have been mid-word.

"Counselor Troi, are you alright?" he inquired in his usual speaking speed.

"Yes. Yes, I am. But if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're suffering from a rudimentary form of excitement!"

Data considered this. "Does one _suffer_ from excitement, Counselor? I was led to believe that humans regarded excitement as a pleasant emotion."

She shook her black curls. "Just a figure of speech. But the way you're talking, anyone would think you're extremely excited."

"Correction, Counselor: I do not have emotions, so I cannot feel excitement."

She smiled. "In that case you're doing a mighty good impression of it. But never mind that now. What was it you wanted to tell me?" Not that she didn't have a clue, but playing along was innocent fun.

Once more, Data started rabbling out his news, and once more, Troi told him to stop. "Slow down, Mr. Data. Remember that I can't read your thoughts; I have to rely solely on my ears to understand what you want to tell me. So please: take a deep breath and start from the beginning again. At normal speed this time."

"Why do you want me to take a deep breath?" Data wondered in confusion. "Does that help me to alter the speed of my speech?"

"It does for humans. But tell me your news now. At your normal speaking speed, please."

This time, however, he uttered only seven words: "I am going to be a father!"

Deanna's smile beamed up at him. "Mr. Data, that is truly wonderful news! I'm so happy for you!"

"Thank you, Counselor. Since I myself cannot feel happiness, I am honoured that you are willing to feel my happiness for me." And then he launched into a detailed account of his theory, ending with his wish to use the opportunity to learn how to act like a real, human father. "And that is where I need your guidance, Counselor. What does a prospective father do?"

"That's a good question." Troi pondered this for a moment. She really wanted to help Data, but she had witnessed first-hand how their android friend in his enthusiasm of having learned a new human skill had a tendency of grossly overdoing it, to the point that he drove everyone crazy. And that was not something she cared to burden Tasha with right now. So diplomacy was the key here.

"By instinct, a prospective father would protect his child and the mother from any harm." He couldn't do much harm with that, could he? "But most of all he'd want to keep the mother happy. Try to remember that this has a much larger impact on Tasha's life than on yours. After all, she is the one who has to cope with all the changes in her body. She is the one who's actually carrying the baby, which means that for quite some time she's going to have to give up the job she loves so much. And she is the one who will have to give birth to the child. And that's not exactly a picnic either."

Up till then he had been drinking in her every word, but now he looked puzzled. "Picnic? Accessing: picnic. A festive summer field meal, very popular in the upper classes of Earth's Western societies during the 19th and 20th century." He frowned. "I am afraid I do not understand the reference, Counselor."

She smiled. "It's just another figure of speech. 'It's no picnic' means that it is something very difficult and very hard to accomplish."

"I see." He tilted his head. "So I should basically protect her, and make her happy, correct? Protecting is no problem. And I will ask Geordi to teach me some more jokes."

He turned to go, but: "No! No, that's not what I meant." Deanna envisioned instantly what effect those horrid jokes would have. She'd have to be more specific. "With 'making her happy' I meant you'd comply with her every wish. Do whatever she asks you to do – within the reasonable safety limits of the Enterprise of course. _(Just in case an exasperated Tasha would tell him to get lost or something disastrous like that.) _And without quarrelling. Or complaining."

"I was not programmed to quarrel, Counselor. Nor to complain."

She chuckled. "So much the better." Then at least in _that_ matter Tasha would have the perfect companion throughout her pregnancy.

Data's thought process however had clearly stayed with the making-happy concept. "Counselor, do you think Lieutenant Yar would appreciate a present?"

"I don't see why not. What did you have in mind for her?"

"That is what I wanted to ask you."

She thought quickly. "I think you'd best keep it simple. Flowers, chocolates, that kind of stuff."

"Thank you, Counselor. I shall see to it right away."

He turned to leave, but suddenly Deanna thought of something else. "Mr. Data?"

He turned back. "Yes, Counselor Troi?"

"I almost forgot_." If Tasha refused to open up to _her_, perhaps she'd find it easier to confide in...?_ "Tell her that you'll always be there for her, whenever she needs you. Don't impose upon her; just be there to give her support when she needs it."

Judging by the expression on his face, he didn't quite seem to grasp the concept of 'being there for her', but he didn't press it. Instead, he thanked her, bid her goodbye and left.

* * *

Instantly on the defence, Tasha whirled around at the first sound of the holodeck door opening, leaving the heavy blue punching bag swinging from its short rope. And she barely relaxed when she saw who was coming in. "Data! What are _you_ doing here?" She wiped the sweat from her brow.

Not at all deterred by her brusque greeting, Data strolled towards her through the loose sand of the holographic beach, and placed a large bouquet of white roses and a neatly wrapped box in her arms. "This is for you."

Her suspicious glare lifted from the gifts in her arms to meet his eyes. "What's this?"

"These are flowers, and this is chocolate," he indicated solemnly.

"But what's it _for_?"

He cocked his head, clearly incredulous that she didn't grasp so obvious a concept. "They are for you. To make you happy." He regarded her with his usual innocent interest. "Are you happy now?"

She could have _screamed_. Or thrust his presents at his feet. Or _both_. But her Starfleet discipline kept her from doing either. Instead she ground out a barely audible "thank you", followed by a more sincere: "But I'm not happy about this at all."

Data looked mildly surprised. "You are not? Does a present from a friend not make you happy?"

She sighed. "Not _that_. I mean this whole pregnancy business."

"Oh. Hm. Interesting. I had gathered that the detection of newly conceived life was customarily regarded as a joyous event with humans."

Tasha scowled, and was tempted once more to throw down those stupid presents. "Well, not for me. As a matter of fact I feel pretty darned _unhappy_ about the whole thing."

Data contemplated this. "I am sorry to hear that. I myself was looking forward to becoming a father. I just assumed you would be equally eager to become a mother. I apologize for assuming without inquiring after your feelings first."

Self-consciously she looked down at the roses in her arms. They were beautiful. And after all... "I'm sorry, Data. It's just that... I don't think I can do this. Having a baby, I mean. Being a mother; raising a child... I just don't think that's something I was cut out to do."

He gave her a surprised look. "Is not motherhood a rather natural state at your chronological age?"

She snorted. "Hardly. And I could just knock you senseless for getting me into this mess, you know that?" She pierced him with a sudden accusatory glare. "Why did you have sex with me in the first place?" she demanded.

He blinked in surprise. "Because you told me to."

Her glare faltered, and despite everything, she just had to laugh at the simple truth of his answer. "Trust an android to come up with an irrefutable piece of logic."

He looked puzzled. "But it is the truth, is it not?"

"Yes, Data, it is." She heaved a sigh. "And of course you're right: this whole mess is my own darned fault."

He shook his head. "I would not say that. At the time, you were severely intoxicated by no fault of your own. You cannot be blamed for what you did under the influence of the Tsiolkovsky virus."

"But we just established that _you_ were not to blame either," she pointed out. "So who is?"

"No one," he replied calmly. "I believe this is what you humans call: an accident."

"Then who can I go and knock senseless?"

He raised his eyebrows in wonder at her belligerence. "Why would you want to do that?"

Once more, her eyes shot fire. "Because I'm _angry_, Data! And upset, and frustrated, and rebellious, and seething mad! And a whole lot more! I've been trying to take it out on this bloody punching-bag" – she swung around and hit the bag full force with her free hand – "but it doesn't _help_. I need something more... more solid! I need to punch the bejaysus out of _someone_!"

Data regarded her for a moment, and then offered helpfully: "I am sure Lieutenant Worf would be more than happy to oblige. Shall I go and get him for you?"

"That's not the point, Data! Worf's got nothing to do with it." She let out a frustrated sigh. "Actually it's _you_ I want to knock around."

He tilted his head. "Would that make you happy?"

"Yes! _Very_ happy!" Another heart-felt punch at the punching-bag.

"I see. Well, I suppose it is only fair. After all, one could argue that it was my unpardonable ignorance of my own body functions that brought about your present distress."

She turned back to him to give him a suspicious glance. "What do you mean?"

"I was well aware that I was not designed to reproduce myself. But I should have realized that the electronically charged particles present in the fluid I release during a sexual intercourse are capable of setting off a cloning process upon contact with a feminine ovum."

Tasha gasped. "What? You mean...?" Suddenly she felt her knees buckle under her.

"What did you want to say?" Data inquired as she just kept staring at him in silent shock.

Slowly, Tasha shook her head. "You mean that I'm not pregnant of some semi-androidic cyborg kid?"

"No. Probably not. It is only a theory, and the evidence is still inconclusive, but considering the absence of DNA carrying sperm in my sexual fluid, Dr. Crusher and I agree that the child you are carrying is most likely to be a mere clone of yourself."

"A mere..." Her knees folded, and abruptly she sat down in the sand. A desperate cry fought its way out: "Data...!"

"Yes?" He looked down at her in confusion. "Are you unwell, Lieutenant?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean..." She pushed her fringe out of her face; then buried her head in her hands. "Oh Data... what have we done? What have we done!"

He frowned. "Done? We engaged in sexual activity for two hours, forty-four minutes and..."

"Yes, and we created a clone of _me_?" She moaned in agony. "Data, the kind of childhood I had is something you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy! And that's all this child has to look forward to...?"

Data contemplated this for a long moment before saying: "I am afraid I do not understand your thought process, Lieutenant. Why would this child be obliged to go through the same experiences you regret so much from your youth? Would it not be preferable to let her grow up in the stimulating and relatively safe environment of the Enterprise?"

Tasha looked up with a start, revelation evident in her eyes. "Data – you beauty! You're right, _of course_! She may have my DNA, but that doesn't mean she's _me_! I can give her the best home a kid could possibly wish for!"

"Exactly." Data's mouth quirked a bit. "And she will have a mother _and_ a father to take care of her."

The sudden sense of relief made Tasha giggle. "You, Data? A father?"

"Of course. Why not?" If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was a bit put out. "I am programmed to learn. So why should I not be able to learn how to take care of a child? Or..." He tilted his head to one side a little. "Do you not want me to?"

"No! No, you're very welcome to help. You can do all the dirty diapers," she teased.

The teasing tone of course went straight over his head. "I do not mind doing the dirty diapers. But I was entertaining the hope of having a more substantial part in her upbringing." He hesitated. "I would like to experience being a _real_ father."

She smiled up at him. "Don't worry, Data. Your help with anything would be greatly appreciated. I'll tell you what: you take care of her when I'm on duty, and I take care of her when you're on duty. Deal?"

Data's mouth quirked into a half smile in return. "Deal."

Suddenly aware of the presents she was still clutching, she put down the box of chocolates and the by now somewhat crushed roses, and got to her feet. "You're going to be a great father, Data."

"Thank you. And I am sure you will be a great mother, too." He tilted his head. "Are you happy now? Or do you still want to knock me around?"

She chuckled. "Only if you join me." She called for the arch, and got two pairs of boxing-gloves from the replicator. She tossed him one of the sets.

Data caught them easily, but insisted: "I do not know if this is such a good idea, Lieutenant. I am supposed to protect you. Not to knock you around."

"You don't have to _protect_ me; I can take care of myself, thank you very much," Tasha retorted in a huff.

"I see. Perhaps I should stick with complying with your every wish then?"

She sent him a highly annoyed glare. "Who've you been talking to?"

"To Counselor Troi," he confessed. "She is helping me to be a prospective father."

"Well, never mind Counselor Troi. Although..." She grinned. "Complying with my every wish doesn't sound too bad. Are you ready?"

Data pulled the gloves over his hands. "Ready."

"And Data..."

"Yes?"

"Thanks for the chocolate and the flowers. That was really sweet of you."

The next thing he knew was a powerful blast to his jaw.


	8. The news of what never happened

The Captain nearly dropped his jaw when he got the news. "Are you telling me, doctor, that Lieutenant Yar has had sex with Mr. Data, and is pregnant as a result from it?"

"Yes, that's the basic idea," Dr. Crusher acknowledged.

And as Captain Picard began to pace in the privacy of his ready room, he muttered in utter disbelief: "For crying out loud: who'd whant to make love to an _android_? And how in heaven's name could that get her pregnant? I wasn't even aware that androids are capable of reproducing themselves!"

"From what Data has told me, I'm sure he can't," Dr. Crusher started to explain.

But an agitated Captain interrupted her. "What do you mean: 'he can't'? You just said he got Tasha pregnant!"

"Yes, but not by reproducing himself."

He glared at her. "Doctor, you're speaking in riddles. Please explain yourself." He walked over to the food dispenser and got himself a cup of hot Earl Grey tea as he listened to the doctor's summary of Data's theory.

"So far the child checks out as completely human. Of course we don't know for sure how it's going to develop, but combining Mr. Data's theory with the facts we found, I think it highly unlikely that it will develop any androidic traits. Though we won't be able to ascertain this until I can safely take a DNA sample of the child. But for now it seems reasonably accurate to assume that Tasha is carrying a clone of herself."

Heavily, Picard lowered himself into his chair. "And how is... Tasha handling all this?"

Dr. Crusher sighed. "Upset, angry, frustrated, scared... Who wouldn't be if they got impregnated by an android?"

He had a wry smile. "Yes, who wouldn't be... But unfortunately it doesn't sound like a healthy state of mind for a Chief of Security."

"I agree. Physically she should be fit for duty on board the ship for several months to come. Though I would prefer not to have her exposed to all kinds of different atmospheres and gravitations etcetera."

"No more away missions. I agree," Picard nodded.

"And until she's come to terms with this, I wouldn't recommend laying the safety of this entire vessel in her hands either. Right now, she's emotionally too unstable to handle the responsibility for over a thousand lives."

"I can imagine." He stopped and stared out into space. "What I do have difficulty imagining though is Mr. Data and Tasha... Yes, they have been rather... well... jumpy around each other lately, but to imagine that they'd actually..." He turned back to Dr. Crusher. "How can you... how can _they_ be so sure that Data is the father? Surely there must be other options?"

She shook her head. "I'm not at liberty to discuss the details, Captain, but no, there are no other options. Either Mr. Data has accidentally set off a cloning process, or it's a case of immaculate conception."

He started pacing again. "Immaculate conception – have you covered all your bases there, doctor? With so many alien life forms out there, it might just be possible that one of them is breeding inside Lieutenant Yar!"

Another shake of the head. "The tricorder would show. No. The child she's carrying checks out as completely human, and to be honest: I find Commander Data's cloning theory quite plausible."

"Fine, fine. Then I'll just let two of my most reliable bridge officers go off and play house." Suddenly he chuckled. "And how is Mr. Data taking this?"

She grinned. "Well, you know our Mr. Data: _'Most intriguing: I am going to be a father!'_"

They both laughed at her far from convincing imitation.

"Sounds like he's genuinely pleased then. And I must say..." Another chuckle. "Watching Mr. Data carrying off fatherhood should provide us with some interesting entertainment!"

* * *

One final intake of breath to steady her nerves, and... As she sounded the chimes of the ready room, she felt the eyes of all her crewmates burning on her back. What would they say... what would they think once they'd find out?

Still, that was something to worry about later. Right now, hearing the Captain's 'come', she hid her apprehension behind her most unreadable mask (or at least she hoped she did) and entered. Whatever the Captain might throw at her – disdain, horror, scorn, reproach, abhorrence? – she was determined to receive it with every scrap of dignity she had left.

But she had barely set a foot inside before the Captain approached her, and took both her hands in his.

"Natasha."

"Captain?" Her eyes sought his face for any of the things she had feared so. But all she found was warm understanding. Understanding?

For a moment they were both quiet; then the Captain spoke: "I hear that you and Mr. Data have embarked on a little life-forming adventure of your own."

She couldn't help smiling at the way he put it. "Yes. And I apologize, sir."

He held up his hand. "Please, there's no need for apologies. On the contrary: much as I regret the prospect of having to do without my outstanding Chief of Security for a few months, I am exceedingly happy for you both!"

Tasha only just held back a surprised 'you are?' and waited for him to continue. This was not the reception she had expected! And as he motioned for her to sit, she was aware – and not for the first time – of the privilege of serving under this man.

"Natasha..."

Her hands, still nervous, fought to clasp themselves in her lap. _Here it comes?_

"People sometimes use the expression 'a union made in heaven'. And personally, I think that's exactly what this is."

She felt her cheeks burn. "Sir, Data and I are _not_..." Not what?

A smile. "No, maybe not a perfect couple, but... Both you and Mr. Data are entirely without relatives in this world. No home, no nest to return to. I sincerely hope that _that_ will be something this child will provide each of you with: a sense of belonging. Of family."

She smiled weakly. "Thank you, sir. I... I must admit I hadn't looked at it from that angle." She saw the small smile playing around his lips, and suddenly she wondered what it would be like to have a father. Or rather what it would be like to have him – Captain Picard – for a father. She knew he didn't have any kids, but perhaps she could ask him to...?

He didn't leave her time to elaborate that thought though. "However, no matter how joyous the situation may yet turn out to be, it does have a few inconvenient consequences for your work here."

Tasha cast down her eyes. "Aye, sir. I understand."

"Your responsibility on this ship is to keep over a thousand people safe. And that is not something I can take chances with. Not even the most primal maternal instincts should interfere with that."

She looked up, resigned resolution lining her features. "Yes, sir, I know. Sometimes, it is in the best interest of security to step aside and let someone else do the job." It hurt, oh, how it hurt! She loved her job above all else. But she knew it was the rational thing to do.

But the Captain looked mildly surprised. "You're jumping ahead of me, Lieutenant. Dr. Crusher advises me that – barring medical complications – you should be physically able to function properly at your station on the bridge for several months to come."

He was met by a baffled stare. "I would?"

"Oh yes! That is: as long as I can rely on you to inform me whenever you're not feeling well enough to do a good job. And there is nothing weak in admitting to that; after all, a pregnancy does have a huge impact on both the body and the mind, but you'll have to remember that the safety of this ship is more important than keeping up your tough image."

She nodded, happily relieved. "I understand, sir. You will have no reason to complain."

"We'll modify your duties a bit though. You will function as the mastermind _behind_ tactical and security operations, without actually taking part in them yourself. So no more away missions for you, and no more charging through the corridors in a handphaser fight."

Tasha's face fell a notch. "You're taking away all the fun stuff."

He smiled. "Try and look at it as a different form of command. A challenge to instruct others so that they will succeed, even if you're not personally at the site to guide them."

She nodded, slowly. Pensively. "You're right, sir. I shall try and see it that way. Still..." She couln't help feeling a little anxious. "I _will_ get my old job, my old duties back once all this is over, won't I?"

"Of course you will. If that's what you wish at the time."

A quick grin. "Bet on it, sir."

"However, for the first few days I'm going to keep you at the helm – a little less responsibility until you've come to terms with this development."

Tasha couldn't quite hide her scowl as she complied with an obedient, "Aye, sir."

"Now who would you recommend to replace you as Chief of Security later on?"

Her answer was quick, and without a doubt. "Lieutenant Worf, sir. He has all the necessary qualities."

The Captain nodded. "My choice, too. I'm glad we agree." He shifted a bit uncomfortably in his chair. "One more thing. As you know, I firmly believe in openness among my crew, in order to prevent tension and disruptive gossip. Your closest colleagues – in this case the bridge officers – are bound to question your being excluded from away teams. It's not that I enjoy violating your privacy, but I think they should know about the situation. Would it be okay if I summon them here now to inform them?"

Tasha closed her eyes for a moment. _Better get it over and done with._ "Aye, sir. Do what you have to."

* * *

Stunned silence.

Something inside her told her to run. To run and hide from the astounded disbelief on their faces. But she forced herself to stay put. To control her shaky breathing, to remain stone-faced under their incredulous scrutiny.

Geordi was the first to find his voice. "Whoa, Data, you're a stud, man! How does it feel to become a father?"

Data turned towards him. "Unfortunately I do not feel anything, Geordi, as I am sure you know by now. But I am looking forward to the experience, if that is what you meant."

Geordi chuckled, and opened his mouth to make another comment when Commander Riker suddenly addressed Tasha: "You... _seduced_... Data?" He practically gasped with shock.

She nodded silently – what else was there to do? Wasn't that what the Captain had just explained? And after all, it _was_ the truth.

Once more Geordi's near laugh cut in: "I don't need to be an empath to read _your _thoughts, Commander: _'What's he got that I haven't?'_"

Riker gaped from him to Data, and back to Tasha. "Yeah. I mean... No offense, Data, but... he's an _android_!"

"Well, there's your answer: he's an android, you're not."

Deanna quickly had to mask a fit of the giggles, and even the Captain found it necessary to casually cover his mouth.

"So when's the little android due?" Geordi continued.

Tasha started – that was something she hadn't even bothered asking Dr. Crusher about!

But Data calmly explained that the child was unlikely to be of androidic nature. "We cannot be 100% sure yet, but there is significant evidence to suggest that the child is a clone of Lieutenant Yar."

"Alright, so when is the little Tasha due?" Geordi seemed to take the whole thing in stride, and Tasha was more than a little grateful for it.

Dr. Crusher answered him. "Since we're not entirely sure about the baby's nature, we can't really predict anything regarding the pregnancy either. But if things develop according to the human standards, the baby would be due by mid December. (1)

Tasha groaned inwardly. December! Obviously this was going to be a serious test of one of those virtues she did not possess in abundance...

But then her eye was drawn to her friend Worf. Never a man of eloquence, he hadn't uttered a word so far. Yet his brooding glare at Data spoke volumes.

Aware of her eyes on him, Worf turned to her. "Lieutenant, allow me to be your gogerych." (2)

Tasha hesitated. "My... gogerych?"

"Yes," came the angry growl back.

"Worf, what is a gogerych?" Deanna struggled with the gutteral pronunciation of the Klingon word.

"Lieutenant Yar has been dishonoured," Worf explained with disgust in his voice. "Failing a blood relative, as her friend it is my duty to challenge the responsible khi'tagh, so that he may prove himself worthy to father her child." Another ominous glare in Data's direction. "Or not."

Data looked as imperturbably curious as ever, but the Captain quickly intervened. "I don't think that is necessary, Mr. Worf."

And Tasha added: "Worf, it's _my_ fault, not Data's. I was under the influence of that virus from the Tsiolkovsky, and Data merely complied with my wishes."

"As I am compelled to do from now on, in order to keep you happy," Data contributed.

Deanna chuckled, and Tasha groaned. "Data...!"

But: "It was his duty to refuse," Worf insisted.

"On the contrary, Lieutenant: it was my duty to comply," Data refuted.

Worf already bared his fangs, but Data stated stubbornly: "I am programmed to act in accordance with human ethics when providing the many services I have to offer. Therefore, in the improbable – or should I say impossible – event of me having assaulted Lieutenant Yar against her will, then the Klingon ethics are quite similar to their present human counterpart, and your wish to challenge me would have been entirely correct and just. However, although I do consider part of the guilt for what happened mine, in this case I acted solely upon Lieutenant Yar's wishes at the time, for I am not programmed to do otherwise on such occasions. According to the present human ethics, that would acquit me from the crime of dishonouring her."

"He's right, Worf," Tasha said before the Klingon could get a word in. "I'm truly honoured by your offer to defend my honour, but it wouldn't be the right course of action in this case. It's not his fault."

Worf grumbled, and one of his slightly more affectionate glares was directed toward her as he said, tight with barely held constraint: "If that is what you wish."

"It is," she said with conviction, hoping to nip any animosity towards Data in the bud.

"That's settled then," the Captain said, clearly relieved. "Besides, you're going to be busy enough, Mr. Worf. In consultation with Dr. Crusher, I hereby relieve Lieutenant Yar from all duties on away missions. Instead, she will coordinate and supervise them from her station up here, and you, Mr. Worf, will act as her first officer in the field."

"Yes, Captain."

"Further, Lieutenant Yar and I agree that once she'll have to temporarily resign her post as Chief of Security for her maternity leave, _you_ are our first choice for taking over as Acting Chief of Security."

Worf's face actually brightened a bit. "I am honoured, Captain."

"Good. Any more questions concerning the matter?"

Geordi chuckled. "About a million and a half, Captain. But I'll save them for a more private setting."

No one else had any more questions to ask in public, so the Captain adjourned the meeting with a final reminder that it was up to Lieutenant Yar and Commander Data – and to no one else – to spread the news all over the ship.

And as they filed out of the room to resume their posts, Riker pouted to Tasha: "If you were so eager to seduce, why didn't you come to _me_?"

Perhaps she should invite him for a boxing match, too.

.

* * *

_(1) As you might recall, I had originally picked January 16th as the date when the episode "The Naked Now" took place. However, now that (with some help from the internet) I have figured out how to work the stardate, I discovered that a January date was not very likely for a stardate of 41209. Presuming that even in the western society of the 24th century the year starts in January, my calculations showed stardate 41209 to be March 17th instead. So I have changed that in the previous chapters (hope I didn´t miss any), and this leads to Tasha´s baby being due in December._

_(2) I am aware that a Klingon dictionary is in existence even in our days. However, since I don´t have one, I made up my own Klingon words_ :-)


	9. To do right by what never happened

_Special thanks to bookfan who provided me with the idea for this chapter._

_I hope it was worth the wait!  
_

* * *

.

It was astonishing to see how everybody's life went on just as normal: saving planets, exploring new systems, Deanna almost getting married, some artificially rejuvinated admiral getting killed by the side effects of his treatment... And here she was, Chief of Security Tasha Yar, semi retired because of some baby clone she still hadn't decided whether she wanted to have or not. She – a mother?

Nothing would ever be the same again. And although she refused to voice the feeling, she knew full well that the incalculable consequences of motherhood scared the hell out of her.

Ridiculous, wasn't it? Put the safety of over a thousand men, women and children in her hands, and she'd handle the responsibility with ease. Put her in the middle of a mine field, and she'd confidently find her way out, casually saving a few others along the way. Confront her with hostile aliens, insufferable Q's, inhabitable planets, a whole army of Romulans if necessary – Tasha Yar wouldn't flinch.

And yet the mere thought of taking care of an infant, of raising a child was giving her nightmares.

She had just woken up from another one of those when her door chime sounded.

"What the heck...!" She glanced at the chronometer. 19.32. Yes, that's right: she'd been rather tired after her shift and had decided to follow the doctor's orders and obediently take a nap. But seven-thirty was of course a perfectly normal time for a social call. Not that she was expecting any.

Another chime.

"Just a minute!" she called, as she quickly put on her bathrobe over her crumpled T-shirt and shorts. She raked her fingers through her hair to make it look somewhat presentable, and then called her visitor to enter.

"Lieutenant."

"Hi, Data."

The yellow eyes flitted briefly over her sloppy outfit. "I hope I did not disturb you?"

She shrugged. "Don't worry. I was just taking a nap. But I was already awake."

"I see." Data's lips quirked a bit into his twitching smile. "Tasha, will you do me the honour of accompanying me to the holodeck?"

She arched an eyebrow. "The holodeck? Why?"

"I have a surprise for you." He hesitated. "But if you are tired, it can wait."

"I'm fine," she dismissed. "Just give me a minute and I'll get dressed."

"Yes. Please do."

* * *

"I wonder what we're doing here." Geordi sighed as he sauntered impatiently back and forth outside holodeck 2.

"From what I understand, we're to witness Data's surprise for Tasha," Deanna pointed out. "Didn't he tell you that?"

"Sure he did. I'm just curious: what's there to witness?" Geordi halted in front of the computer screen. "Computer, what program is currently running on holodeck 2?"

"_Private program Data-2,"_ the computer answered obediently.

"Perhaps we should have a peek," Geordi suggested.

But the computer admonished: _"Private programs can only be entered with the consent of their owners."_

Geordi scowled. "I wasn't talking to you."

And Deanna chuckled. "Patience is a virtue, Lieutenant."

"Yeah. A highly overrated one, if you ask me."

But there were Tasha and her escort.

"Data, what's the meaning of all this? Why all the secrecy?" Geordi accosted him.

Data tilted his head. "Is not secrecy a vital element of surprise?"

Deanna gave him an encouraging smile. "Yes, Data, it is. It's just that we're so curious to see your surprise. Did you create a new holodeck program perhaps?"

"I did indeed, Counselor. And although the surprise is intended for Lieutenant Yar, I need your help to make it work."

"Well, let's have it then. I'm dying here."

A worried frown creased Data's forehead as he grabbed his friend's wrist. "You are not dying, Geordi. Your pulse is strong and regular. As it should be."

"Dying of curiosity I mean. Can we go in now?"

"Yes. We can." Data manoeuvered an amused Tasha in front of the doors and told the computer to let the party enter.

"Open Sesame," Tasha giggled as the double doors slid aside.

But there was no treasure behind the magic doors. Instead, they looked into an ancient metalworker's workshop.

Slowly, not quite knowing what to expect, Tasha stepped over the threshold.

"It looks old," Geordi commented as he followed her. "Very old."

"What is this place, Data?" Deanna asked as she blew some dust off a wedding picture on the wall.

"It is the workshop of a famous blacksmith in Scotland. I found some pictures of it dating from the early decades of the twentieth century. They served as the model for this program. See, I recreated all the tools, the broken wheels in the corner, the fireplace, the water barrel, the workbench. And of course the anvil."

"Neat," Geordi complimented as he fingered the tools on the workbench. He picked up a wrench, and was appalled by the weight of it. "Those blacksmiths sure developed their muscles right on the job, I bet."

Tasha looked around. "Is this the big surprise you had for me?" She couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment – she'd expected something more interesting. But then, it was quite possible that androids had a different perception of surprises.

But to her relief, Data replied: "No. This is just the setting. Does it have your approval?"

"Sure. It looks very authentic."

A twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Then let us continue. Computer!" He raised his voice. "Run private program Data-2B."

Suddenly the heavy wooden door at the back of the room swung open and a tall, muscular man wearing patched up clothes and a leather apron came in. "Ah! I see you have arrived, sir. And you brought your own witnesses, too. Excellent. Please, come and join me at the anvil – this won't take a minute."

Geordi's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "_What_ won't take a minute? You don't consider yourself a dentist, do you? I already have an appointment for next week. With a real one!"

A booming laughter echoed off the stone walls. "Do not worry, lad. I am but a humble blacksmith. Not a doctor. Now come and gather around the anvil. I am sure your friends are eager to proceed."

Tasha squinted at him. "Proceed with what?" she wanted to ask, but just as she opened her mouth, Data placed a small bouquet of white roses in her hands. "Here. These are for you, Lieutenant. And they are real; not holographic."

She frowned. "What are these for?"

Troi's eyes suddenly went wide with realization. "Data!" she hissed urgently.

But the large blacksmith had begun to speak again, drowning out her warning whisper. And he cut right to the heart of what Deanna already had come to suspect: "Do you, Data, take this woman Natasha Yar to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, to love and to..."

"_What?_" Tasha cried out. "Data, what the hell is going on here?"

"We are eloping," he told her in his trademark innocence.

She gasped for breath. "Just like that? Are you crazy?"

"No, I am not," he replied.

"You could at least have _asked_ me!" Seething with indignation she slung the roses in his face and stormed out of the holodeck.

"Whoops," came it from Geordi in the deafening silence that ensued.

And a totally non-plussed Data turned to Deanna. "Counselor, I do not understand. Did I do something wrong? Is it not considered the right thing to do for a man to wed the girl with whom he unintentionally has fathered a child?"

"Oh, Data..." Counselor Troi shook her head in compassion. Their android friend looked almost lost...

It was a chuckling Geordi who actually answered the question. "It was the right thing to do, yes – some five hundred years ago."

"That's not true," Counselor Troi corrected. "In many societies it's still considered the only honourable solution to an illegitimate pregnancy. Even today. Remember Worf's initial reaction? But Data..." She placed a comforting hand on his arm; more out of habit than that he would really need a physical sense of her support. "Why didn't you ask her first if she _wanted_ to marry you?"

"Should I have?" Data tilted his head. "Then she would be making the same promise twice. Why is that necessary? Is not this ceremony sufficient?"

"Data, we're not in the dark ages, you know! Back then, a man could drag a girl to the altar and if he wanted to marry her, there was nothing she could do about it. But women nowadays aren't like that. They have a say in whom they pledge their love to. And with a right, too."

"Yes. It _is_ common courtesy to _ask_ a girl if she wants to marry you before leading her up to the altar," Deanna added.

"To the anvil," Data pointed out.

"The idea is the same. Where are we anyway? Is this by any chance the famous smithy in Gretna Green?"

The blacksmith's laugh boomed again. "Aye, milady, it is. Have you heard of it?"

"I've read about it." She sighed. "Data, it was a really sweet idea of you. Very romantic, too. But you really need to ask a girl if she wants to marry you. _Before_ you dump her in the middle of exchanging vows with you."

Data nodded. "Understood, Counselor." He picked up the somewhat battered bouquet of roses. "I will go and ask her now. Computer: save program and exit."

They watched him walk off. "Poor Data," Geordi sighed. "Jilted at the anvil..."

* * *

He found her in the gym, angrily pacing away on the walking machine. "Lieutenant?"

She glared at him. "What?"

"I did not intend to upset you. I am sorry."

Tasha sighed and turned off the machine. "Data, what in the world possessed you to spring that wedding program on me?"

"I wanted to do right by you," he explained. "After all, I am the one who got you into this difficult situation, so it is my responsibility to take care of you now. To protect you, to be there for you and to make you happy. After weighing all the options, I came to the conclusion that the most logical way to accomplish that is to marry you."

"Data..." She heaved a sigh. Was it just her imagination or did he really wear the expression of a sad puppy dog? She really had to refrain herself from fondly ruffling his immaculate hair.

"Counselor Troi explained that I should have asked you first if you wanted to marry me at all," Data continued. "So will you marry me?"

"Um... Is that an official proposal?" Wow... Never had she imagined to get one of those!

"Yes. I think so." Data regarded her with happy anticipation.

"Um..." She looked away and shuffled uneasily with her feet. "Um... I don't know, Data. I mean, you're a sweet guy and all, but... I've never even _considered_ marriage. To _anyone_."

"I see. You would require some time to think it over. That is not uncommon, I believe."

"I don't know... Maybe..." Gee, how do you tell a guy who's proposing to you that you've ruled out the entire idea of marriage for yourself?

"Well, if it makes your decision any easier, it might be helpful for you to know that it would not be a legally valid marriage anyway," he informed her.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Why not? Because you're an android?"

"Affirmative. According to Terran law, section 472 paragraph 16H, humans cannot be united in marriage with artificial lifeforms of any kind. Hence the elopement setting I concocted for the occasion. It seemed appropriate."

"But that's ridiculous!" Tasha exclaimed.

Data frowned. "You do not think the elopement setting appropriate in this case?"

"No, that you can't get married! You're one of the sweetest guys I've ever met!"

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

"You know what, Data?" Tasha was all riled up now. "Why don't we get married in your elopement program, just to piss off bureaucracy? It doesn't have to change anything between us – we can still simply be friends and each have our own quarters and so on. But it'll give those bigwigs something to chew on!"

Data regarded her pensively. "Lieutenant, I do not think fighting what you perceive as an injustice agrees with the intended scope of marriage. Are you truly prepared to have me for your husband, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in good times and in bad times, in sickness and in health, till death us part?"

Tasha was momentarily taken aback. "Well... it doesn't have to be all that serious, does it? I mean, lots of people split up again after having plighted their eternal troth to one another."

"I would not," he told her. "I cannot go back on a promise. Even if such a promise would be invalid for the law, it would still be valid for _me_. When I promise a lady to have her for my wife, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in good times and in bad times, in sickness and in health, then I will do so to the very most outer stretches of my limited emotional capabilities. Till death us part."

Tasha stared at him in amazement. "Was that... were you really going to promise me that back there on the holodeck?"

"Affirmative. But I realize now that Counselor Troi was right: I should have sounded you on the subject before leading you up to the anvil. Apparently our views on marriage are sadly incompatible."

A blush of embarrassment coloured her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Data. I'm really sorry for disappointing you. It's just that..."

"Do not make yourself uneasy on my behalf, Lieutenant. You are well aware that I have no feelings. I cannot feel disappointment."

Suddenly she laughed, and placed a quick fond kiss on his cheek. "Data, you're a fool! But you know what? You're the most perfect husband a girl could possibly wish for!"


	10. The end of what never happened ?

"Tasha, have you made up your mind yet about whether you want to have the baby?"

"I haven't, no." Tasha slid off the examination table. "Why, what's the rush?"

Dr. Crusher put down her tricorder. "No rush. At least not yet. But I'm as bound by regulations as everyone else. So I'd better warn you: after the sixteenth week of pregnancy I am not allowed to perform an abortion on the baby anymore. For you, that means in three weeks time," she reminded her.

Tasha sighed, and lay back down on the table again. "Better get it over and done with then."

"_What_?" Dr. Crusher shook her head. "Sorry, young lady, but this is not a decision to make lightly."

"I'm not making it lightly: I've been thinking about it from the day I learned I was pregnant," Tasha pointed out.

"Yes. And less than a minute ago you told me you hadn't made up your mind yet. Sorry, but that's not what I call a well-considered decision. Do you?"

Another sigh, and Tasha sat up again. "Alright, alright, I'll think about it some more. But it is kind of busy around here, with all those guests on board, and that Remmick guy stirring up everyone."

"Then you better _make_ time. This is important, too." Dr. Crusher could be stern if she wanted to. "Also, if you do choose to go through with an abortion, then I want you to discuss the matter thoroughly with Mr. Data. After all, it's his child, too."

Tasha grimaced. "So much for women's rights. Do I perhaps need his consent as well?"

"No, but he _is_ the father, and since he's already indicated that he's more than willing to accept the responsibilities of parenthood, you're going to have to explain your decision to him. And also..." She glanced at her unwilling patient. "I've said this before: I'd like you to have a serious talk with Counselor Troi."

Tasha's scowl said it all, but the doctor continued to try and persuade her. "I know you're not too keen on counseling. But she can help you to straighten out your feelings towards this baby, whether you'd want to have it or not. Anyway, I'm not allowed to perform an abortion without a counselor's report. So if you really do want to have your baby aborted, then you're going to have to see her."

Tasha scowled. "Fine then. I'll go and see her now."

* * *

"It's not so easy to tell. Tasha doesn't open up easily even under the most favourable circumstances; especially not to me. The best way I can describe her state of mind on the matter is that she is determined to convince herself that she's convinced she wants the abortion."

Dr. Crusher blinked. "So if I may phrase that in a more accessible manner, you're basically saying she's _not_ convinced?"

Troi nodded. "She just won't admit it. We've made a whole list of the pros and cons of having this child – well, she doesn't _see_ any pros. Whatever I suggested as a positive aspect she deftly twisted into a negative one. For example the warmth and the sense of belonging that come with being part of a family – she insisted she prefers to be on her own, without the burden of having to consider others."

Dr. Crusher sighed. "Well, you've got to admit that the whole concept of family life is probably rather alien to her. The way she grew up..."

"I know. But..." Deanna smiled. "She does yearn for it. I caught her a few times – oh, not during our sessions, but during quiet moments on the bridge. Basking herself in the mere idea of the love and the joy and trust she'd get from a daughter. In such moments, the happiness and the longing simply radiate from her. But it's always quickly pushed aside for more rational considerations. _'A Security Chief doesn't live to get old. It'd be cruel to have a child, only to deprive it of her mother at an early age_.' And things like that."

The doctor grimaced. "That's a new one. But it fits in with the usual list I get: bursting at the seems with practicality." She raked her hands through her hair. "Deanna, what are we going to _do_? If she keeps insisting that she doesn't want the baby, then I have no reason to deny her an abortion. But are we doing the right thing?"

Deanna had a sad shrug. "There's not much we can do about it, I'm afraid. It's not like she's upset, or unanswerable for her actions – she's calm, and rational. _Too_ rational for my liking. For the past two weeks I've been trying to get her to voice that longing I've sensed from her. And the faint regret at her decision. But she denies having any such feelings, and flatly refuses to discuss _anything_ but her reasons for _not_ having the baby. That's what is really worrying me: that she refuses to acknowledge her own ambiguity on the subject. To be honest, I don't see what choice we have but to abide by the wish she voices, but I have serious concerns about her being haunted by remorse afterwards."

"Which she'll probably just lock away again – just like the rest of her already impressive trauma collection." Dr. Crusher heaved a sigh. "Sometimes I can't help wondering when it's all going to blow up."

Deanna had a tired smile. "The pitcher and the well, eh?"

"Yeah. Having an abortion is one thing, but going through with it denying any feeling on the subject when in fact you do have doubts... Has she talked to Mr. Data yet?"

"No, not yet. But I advised her this morning that she shouldn't wait much longer to do so. He has a right to know, even if he is only an android."

"Well, let's hope he'll talk some sense into her. Hopefully, with his ingrained respect for life, he won't take the deliberate killing of his offspring very lightly." Dr. Crusher got up. "And we still have about a week. I can delay an abortion till the end of next week, but that's as far as I can go. Do you think you could keep working with her a little longer, too? I'd feel a whole lot better about this if only Tasha would admit to the feelings she does have towards this child."

* * *

Back in her cabin, Tasha pulled up the duty rosters. Good: Data was off-duty this afternoon. Better get this over and done with.

She touched the computer panel on the wall. "Computer, the location of Lt. Commander Data?"

"_Lt. Commander Data is in his quarters."_

That was just down the corridor. So she quickly strode over, and entered Data's spartan quarters at his invitation. "Hi. I need to talk to you. You got a minute?"

"Of course, Lieutenant. What is on your mind?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm going to have the baby aborted."

Data's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Why? Is the child not viable? Is she developing androidic physiology? Are you perhaps experiencing detrimental side effects?"

Tasha frowned. "No. I just... I've just decided I don't want to have it."

Data's expression turned to worried puzzlement. Amazing, Tasha thought, how many emotions his face was able to express, even with little or no feelings behind it. Pure mimicry, no doubt.

"I am sorry, Lieutenant," Data said. "But I do not understand. If there is nothing wrong with our little girl, then why do you not want to have her?"

Tasha sighed with exasperation. "Because I just don't want to have a baby!"

"Why not?"

"Hundreds of reasons. It'd simply be too complicated. And I'm just not the motherly type."

Silence.

"Those are two reasons, Lieutenant. Please continue. And please elaborate the first one: what would be too complicated?"

"This whole thing of having a baby. Who's going to look after it while I'm on duty?"

"I am," Data replied placidly. "Had we not already agreed to that?"

"Yeah, well, and who's going to take care of it when we're both on duty?"

"Then we can bring her to the ship's nursery. All parents do," Data pointed out.

Tasha sighed. "Well, it still wouldn't work. I'm a security officer. The fewer emotional ties and liabilities, the better."

Data gave her a curious glance. "The Chief of Security I served with aboard the U.S.S. Trieste had three children. They did not stop him from being an exemplary security officer."

She snorted. "But he was a male."

"Is there a difference?"

"Is there a _difference_? Data, he didn't have to be pregnant and give birth himself!"

"That, however, is but a temporary problem for you as a female officer. Why should a physical inconvenience that will merely temporarily affect your ability to do your job stop you from bringing our daughter into the world?"

"Because! Because it'd leave me vulnerable! And emotionally less stable. I cannot afford that as Chief of Security."

"Why not? Would that not, too, be only temporary?"

"No, it wouldn't!" She started pacing. It was distracting – unnerving almost – to have an argument with someone who didn't get angry in return, and instead dealt with her every outburst with the utmost calm. It made her feel stupid, and childish. And out of control. "Data, don't you see that any malevolent fool would only have to point a phaser at my kid and I'd turn into jelly?"

"Jelly? Are you..."

"Idiom, Data." Tasha sighed. "Meaning I would be too scared that something would happen to my kid to be able to think straight. And that could put lots of lives at risk."

"Ah." Data tilted his head. "That would imply that security officers should not become parents. Ever."

"Exactly. A Chief of Security can't have children – it's as simple as that. Especially since it's such a dangerous job: you know as well as I do that the life expectation for security officers is considerably shorter than for other officers. I can't deprive this kid of her mother at an early age – that'd be cruel!"

Data frowned. "So because there is a chance that she might lose her mother, you have decided that she had better not live at all?"

Tasha flinched.

"Still," Data continued as cool as a cucumber. "I am expected to live forever. So she would still have her father to take care of her. It is not uncommon for a child to be raised by only one parent."

Tasha laughed nervously. "Data, you can't raise a kid all by yourself!"

"Why not?"

"Why, you're an android!"

"Yes. I know. And I am programmed to learn, and to respond to human needs. That is the basic role of a parent, is it not? So why should I not be capable of learning how to be a parent?"

"Data, parents are supposed to teach and guide their children; not the other way around."

Data nodded. "Yet nobody teaches humans how to be a parent. They all have to learn on the job. So why not me? Or you? You say you are not the motherly type. Have you tried yet to take care of an infant?"

Tasha's face hardened. "Believe me, Data, I have. Back on Turkana IV, when I was a kid. After my mother abandoned us, I took care of my little sister for years. I know what it's like to be a parent."

Calmly, Data shook his head. "That is an irrealistic comparison, Lieutenant. Back then you were a child yourself. Now you are a grown-up."

"It's still the same routine and responsibility. And I'm simply not up to that. Not ready, if you prefer. I don't _want_ to be a mother."

Data regarded her in frowning contemplation. "There must be other options that will permit our daughter to live, and yet will relieve you of the duties of motherhood. In fact, I would not mind raising her all by myself in case you really would not want a part in her upbringing. But I do suppose I would need some assistance in the guidance of her emotional development. Perhaps Counselor Troi would be willing to oblige me in that."

Tasha sighed. "Forget it, Data. I don't _want_ to be a mother. So I'm not going to have this baby and that's final."

"I object." A firm Data suddenly stood. "If there is nothing wrong with our daughter, then she must have the right to live. Can you not at least give birth to her properly?"

"Yes, and what about _my_ life in the meantime?"

"And what about _her_ life?"

"Data, if I'd do that, then I'd still have to go through this whole pregnancy thing!"

"That will last for only twenty-seven more weeks at the most. Probably shorter. Is that worth killing her for?"

Tasha flinched. "Not 'killing', Data. _Aborting_."

"The result is the same. It is still infanticide. Child-murder. Are you really prepared to be guilty of that?"

"No! I mean... I don't know what I mean. Data, why are you trying to confuse me?"

"Forgive me, Lieutenant: I have no intention of confusing you. You are merely giving me your reasons for having our daughter deliberately killed – the number of which incidentally has not added up to ten yet – and so far I have been able to refute them all. You said you had hundreds of reasons. I would appreciate to hear the others. For _'no life should be taken easily'_. You do remember your classes in ethics at the Academy, do you not?"

Tasha huffed. "Hey, it's easy for you to say! You're not the one who's pregnant! And besides, why are you making such a fuss? You promised me yourself that you'd comply with my every wish!"

"Yes, I did. And I will. But not to the point where it requires the killing of a living being." He walked to the door. "But since I do understand that you do not wish to continue this pregnancy, I will go and speak with Dr. Crusher right away to try and find an alternative solution to enable our daughter to live. Please be patient a little longer and do not bring any harm to her yet."

* * *

"Dr. Crusher." Data came striding into her little office. "Lieutenant Yar and I have a disagreement regarding our daughter. May I disturb you for some advice?"

"Of course, Data. Have a seat, please. What can I do for you?"

Data sat down across from her. "Lieutenant Yar has informed me that she intends to terminate our daughter's life. I disagree. I offered to take on the complete responsibility for raising the child once she is born, but she refuses to even complete the pregnancy in order for the child to live."

Dr. Crusher nodded. "Yes, I've heard. It's very sad."

"It is indeed. Therefore: doctor, is it possible to transplant the baby into the womb of a surrogate mother who is willing to fulfill the pregnancy for her? I would be happy to volunteer my own body, but I doubt my positronic net will be compatible with my daughter's needs."

Dr. Crusher just stared at him, touched as she was by the determination of this piece of electronic equipment to save his unborn daughter.

"Doctor?" he prompted her.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Data, I was thinking. But I'm afraid it's not possible. Scientists have been experimenting with such procedures indeed, but unfortunately, the ties between mother and child are far too delicate to be severed and replaced. The child wouldn't stand a chance. I'm sorry."

"I see." Data sat silent for a moment, contemplating the whole mess. "Doctor, I hope you are able to enlighten me concerning a mystery in human behaviour I have encountered today. Tell me: why would a human wish to kill his own offspring?"

A sigh from Dr. Crusher. "In this case, it's my impression that Tasha is mainly frightened. Of the future, of the unknown, the complete responsibility for an other person's well-being, the challenge of raising a child..."

Data frowned. "I have not seen Lieutenant Yar back away from a challenge before."

Dr. Crusher had a wan smile. "It's a different kind of challenge, Data. Tell her to fight a major enemy, and she'll thrive. Tell her to take care of an infant, and she'll panic. It's quite common with warriors. And as long as she's not confronted with the fact that her baby is really alive, it's possible for her to downplay the... Wait a minute..." Her face lit up.

Data leaned forward in alarm. "Dr. Crusher, are you alright? Your cheeks are suddenly going all red."

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. But you've just given me an idea for a last minute attempt to get Tasha to realize that... So thank you! But I'll need to speak to Troi, to see what we can do."

* * *

Deanna looked doubtful. "It could work, yes. But it'd be awfully last minute. Do you think that's fair to Tasha?"

Dr. Crusher raised her eyebrows. "Do you think it's fair to the baby that her mother wants to have her killed, just because she's too damned stubborn to admit to herself that she would actually enjoy having a child?"

Deanna frowned. "I never said that. She longs for it _beside_ her desire for her independence and her preference for a total lack of emotional ties."

"Alright. But actually seeing her baby, enlarged to a real size newborn might even tip the scale in the child's favour."

An understanding smile. "You really do want this child to live, don't you."

"Yeah..." The doctor blushed a little at being caught. "My job is meant to _preserve_ life, not to take it. And it just irks me to no end to have to perform an abortion when there is a chance of saving the child's life. And a _fair_ chance. After all, it's not like Tasha is dead set on an abortion. She does have doubts already." She hesitated. "She still has?"

Deanna nodded. "I have noticed her feelings getting stronger – in both directions. It seems Mr. Data's blunt translation of the term 'abortion' was awfully hard for her to swallow. I sense from her that she really would prefer not to have to _kill_ the child – but she very much prefers not to _have_ it either." She sighed. "Pretty impossible situation, isn't it? But in order to drown out her growing ambiguity, she's getting more and more adamant in voicing her wish to have the abortion." A sad shake of the head. "Some counselor in this galaxy is going to have a hell of a time one day to try and help her come to terms with this."

"So you're saying that psychologically, it'd be better for her if she did have the baby – despite all the consequences," the doctor summarized.

"All things considered, and seeing the development of her state of mind these past weeks – yes," Deanna admitted. "I'm getting the impression that – given more time – she would eventually turn around."

"Good. Then we only need to convince Tasha."

"Beverly, you cannot deny her an abortion if that is what she says she wants!"

"Don't worry, I won't." Dr. Crusher looked very smug all of a sudden. "But like I said: I can play a little on those doubts she already has. Just to try and tip the scale. And if she's got such trouble coming to terms with the idea of 'killing' her child..."

* * *

"Are you ready?"

A deep intake of breath. "Ready. Go ahead."

With a grim smile, Dr. Crusher turned on the viewscreen. And to her satisfaction, she heard a small gasp escape the soon no longer mother-to-be. For there was the child – _her_ child. It was unmistakably a perfect little baby – albeit in miniature. And most definitely alive and kicking.

Tasha's eyes were glued to the screen, and the doctor smugly busied herself with her instruments for a few moments longer. _Let her take it in, and then: nix with the usual considerate bedside manners. No more sugar-coating: say it as it is! It may be borderline unethical, but if that's what it takes to help save an innocent life...!_

"Tasha, what do you prefer? Get your child out alive so you can tell her face to face that you don't want her to live, and then have her die in your arms? Or kill her first so she doesn't have to live through the whole trauma of being pulled out of her safe little nest, long before she can survive outside it?"

Tasha swallowed hard, and her eyes bulged a bit. "Do you _have_ to put it like that?"

Dr. Crusher shrugged. "It's exactly what we're doing, isn't it?"

"Yes, but..." Tasha's eyes darted back to the screen. Dr. Crusher enlarged it to the size of a full-born baby, and they saw the little girl gently swinging back and forth in the clear fluid. Occasionally her foot kicked out for no apparent reason. And then they saw her tiny little hand, with five perfectly shaped shrimp fingers, being brought to her mouth in a quite coordinated movement. As if she was searching for her thumb to suck on.

Tasha gulped. "No. Wait. I just..."

Dr. Crusher hid a smile and stepped aside.

Seconds ticked by. Minutes even. She noticed Tasha blinking stealthily, trying to control her tears without giving away that she was crying. But in the end... "Okay. Go ahead." Trembling, but determined.

Now it was Dr. Crusher's turn to gulp. Had their scheme failed? But she _had_ to keep trying to get through to her – to rub it in what she was doing! "So which option do you prefer?"

Tasha gulped, too. "The second. I don't want her to go through all that. And I don't think I could face her."

"Which option was that again? I forget." A devious, desperate last minute attempt to stagger the unwilling mother... _God, please! Open her eyes!_

Tasha turned to glare at her. "You know what I meant!" Her eyes were indeed brimming with tears.

But: "Yes," the doctor pressed on relentlessly. "But I need _you _to consciously order me to do it. What do you want me to do with your little baby?"

Tasha's haunted eyes flitted back to the screen. The little baby-girl was hiding her little head in her arms. Almost as if she was scared. Did she perhaps – somehow – realize what was going on?

She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes, and...

A sob. "I can't. _I can't do it_!"

The doctor put down her hypospray in a decidedly pointed manner. "You're sure?"

A gulp. Another sob. And a croaked: "Yes. How... how can I order such a... helpless little creature to be... _killed_?" It was a cry of sheer agony.

Dr. Crusher smiled, and patted her hand. "To be honest, both Deanna and I were pretty sure you couldn't. We just had to find a way to get _you_ to admit that you couldn't."

Tasha even laughed through her tears. "Oh doc, what am I going to do?"

Dr. Crusher pulled her upright and took the shaken Security Chief in her arms. "You're going to have your baby, and you're going to be just fine. And I understand that Data has already offered to accept permanent custody of the child. So if you prefer, this whole business can be over and done with for you once you've let your little daughter see the light of day."

"But it still scares the hell out of me..."

"I know. And I'm not going to tell you that carrying a pregnancy to full term is easy. But going through with the abortion – especially when you're not all that certain that it's indeed what you want – wouldn't have made it all that easy to live with yourself either."

Tasha hugged her tight. "Thanks, doc," she brought out. "And... just be there for me, will you?"

"Any time," the doctor assured her. And as soon as Tasha let go of her, Dr. Crusher touched her communicator. "Dr. Crusher to Mr. Data."

"_Data here. Go ahead, doctor."_

"Mr. Data, I'm happy to inform you that your daughter will live."

They heard a whoop from Geordi in the background, and a cheer that sounded like Commander Riker's. Tasha chuckled with strangely relieved embarrassment.

And it wasn't until then that they heard Data reply, _"Thank you, doctor. Data out."_

Dr. Crusher smiled at Tasha's tear-stained face. "Now was it just my imagination, or did I really detect a note of happy relief in that android's voice?"


	11. A name for what never happened

"Commander Riker, would you mind if I join you?"

"Of course not. Have a seat."

"Thank you." Data sat down in the social murmur of the Ten Forward lounge.

"What can I do for you?" Riker threw back the last of his synthehol and cast an inquiring look at his android colleague.

"I have come to seek your advice, Commander," Data replied.

"What about?"

"Names. The subject mystifies me. I am aware that the last name of one or both parents is customarily passed on to their offspring. But on what grounds is the child's first name decided? I have studied the records on everyone aboard this ship, but I have not been able to detect any clear patterns in human first names among them. For example: why are you called William Thomas? And not Thomas William? Or George, or Henry, or Dick, or Jean-Luc, or..."

Riker raised his hands. "Yes, Data, I get the point." He chuckled. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your having to decide on a name for your own daughter, would it?"

"It would indeed." Data leaned forward in an attempt at confidentiality. "I have noticed that – even though our child's gender has been officially established – Lieutenant Yar continues to refer to her as 'it'. I have pointed out this mistake to her six times over the past forty-seven hours, eighteen minutes and eleven seconds, and although she agrees with my corrections every time, she persistently keeps making the same mistake. So I thought – since I have noticed that most first names are considered to be distinctly male or female – that maybe if the child had a name, it would be more logical for her to use the correct pronoun when referring to our daughter."

Riker nodded. "Makes sense. And now you want my advice on how to pick a name?"

"I would appreciate your insights, yes. So: why are you called William Thomas?"

"Well, actually, Data, if you'd have dug a bit further into people's family histories, you'd have discovered that there _are_ certain patterns in name giving. There's a rather ancient tradition shared by many human cultures of naming a newborn after an esteemed relative. I, for example, was named after both my grandfathers: William Riker and Thomas Sandgren."

Data frowned. "That will prove to be difficult in our case, Commander. I do not have any female relatives. And from what I understand, Lieutenant Yar does not even recall the names of her parents."

Riker shook his head. "No worries, Data. There are other reasons for choosing a name. First of all you have to _like_ the name."

Instead, the creases in Data's forehead deepened. "Commander, are you suggesting that one name is more aesthetically pleasing than another?"

"Of course it is. Everyone has their own..." He cut off mid sentence. "That's right: you don't have preferences, do you?"

"No, sir. For me, a word, or a name, is a combination of sounds. A combination of letters when in written form. I perceive no difference in their aesthetic value."

"Hm." It was Riker's turn to frown. "Alright. So what about naming her after someone you admire?"

Data tilted his head. "Like whom?"

"Gee, I don't know." Riker raked his fingers through his hair. "Jean-Luc is a bit hard to make female. Jeannette-Lucie? Rather long, isn't it? Or how about Jamie? After the famous Admiral James T. Kirk?"

Data shook his head. "That would defeat the object, Commander: Jamie is one of those exceptional names that can be used both by males and by females."

"Oh. Yeah, that's right. Well then, what females do you admire?"

"In what sense, Commander? You are aware that I am unable to admire females in the fashion you and most single human males do, are you not?"

Riker hid an amused snort behind his hand. "You're right, Data, maybe that's not the best way for you to go about choosing a name for your daughter. But then there's only one rather common tradition left: to choose a name for its meaning."

Data tilted his head. "Its meaning? I was not aware that names mean something?"

"Oh yes! Most human first names have a meaning, often originating from civilizations from hundreds, even thousands of years ago."

Data's eyes gleamed. "That sounds most intriguing!"

"Yes, it is!" Riker agreed. "And by choosing a particular name for their child, parents hope to influence their child's character or life in a positive way."

A suddenly sceptic Data raised an eyebrow. "Commander, surely you do not imply that one's name can determine one's character? Or one's life? Are those not the product of a combination of mainly social and hereditary factors?"

A little smile from Riker. "You think so?" He, too, leaned forward and asked in a whisper: "Do you know what the name 'Deanna' means?"

Data looked at him expectantly.

"'Goddess'. Or 'divine'." He leaned back in his chair. "I'd say that's pretty much how she turned out, don't you agree?"

Data gave him an almost baffled stare. "Commander, are you implying that Counselor Troi is a goddess?"

"Of course not." He chuckled. "But she sure looks like one." He spread out his hands in defeat. "Okay, forget it, Data. Perhaps that was just not the best example. But I assure you there are lots of names with more down-to-earth meanings. Like 'happiness', or 'love', or 'joy', or 'wisdom'. Even things: 'star', 'sun', 'jewel', or different animals. Why don't you download the available baby name directories?"

Data nodded once. "I will. Thank you, Commander." He got up to leave, but Riker held him back.

"One last thing, Data."

"Yes, Commander?"

"You better include Tasha in this. For even if _you_ don't have aesthetical preferences, I'm sure she does have them."

* * *

Tasha sat curled up on the couch, going over security reports on her padd. Sure, she was off-duty, but sometimes her tasks while on duty were so consuming that things like admin just couldn't be dealt with properly within working hours. Still, it was a vital part of her job to be up-to-date with everything concerning the security of the ship and its crew. Which occasionally meant working overtime on the reports.

She had already changed into a pair of jogging pants and an oversized T-shirt. Halfway through her pregnancy, the unmistakable curve of her baby-belly had begun to show itself relentlessly. She was used to wearing her Starfleet uniform practically 24/7, but right now, the way the tight jumpsuit revealed and even accentuated her pregnant state made her quite uncomfortable. In these loose-fitting clothes, she could at least pretend that the tell-tale belly wasn't there.

For now, that is. She pushed back her fringe and sighed. But for how much longer? How many months – or more likely: how many _weeks_ before there simply would be no way to hide it anymore? Least of all to hide it from herself? For she may have reconciled herself with having the baby, but that still didn't mean she was happy about it...

She tried to focus back on her padd, and realized she had been reading the last page without taking any of it in. And she sighed again. Dr. Crusher could insist all she wanted that an occasionally wandering mind was quite normal in her situation, but she fought it as much as she could. A security chief couldn't afford the luxury of daydreaming. But at least those horrible spells of morningsickness and dizziness were past. As well as the extreme fatigue she had experienced in the beginning.

She groaned. There she went off wandering again. Dammit, she _had_ to read this! She...

The doorchime.

A sigh. "Come!" After all, a distraction – an _authorized_ distraction – may be just what she needed to be able to concentrate properly again afterwards.

The door slid open and revealed Data. "Lieutenant," he greeted her. "May I come in?"

"Only if you stop calling me 'lieutenant' when I'm off-duty," she smirked.

"As you wish... Tasha." He entered and the door slid shut behind him.

And Tasha put down her padd. "What's up?"

"Up?" Puzzled, Data glanced at the ceiling, and Tasha snickered.

"Slang, Data. 'What is the matter' is a pretty good translation."

"Ah. I see. Another colloquialism."

"Yes. So what's up?"

"I have been analyzing your frequent mistakes in gender when referring to our daughter, and I believe I have found a way to help you realize that she is female."

Tasha groaned. "Do I really have to?"

"I believe it would be beneficial, yes. Within a few weeks, the baby's hearing will have developed sufficiently for her to be able to hear us talking. I would not want to have her confused about her gender."

"I don't think an unborn baby would understand the nuances yet," Tasha countered. "So why bother?"

Data tilted his head. "But since there has been no conclusive evidence as to exactly what an unborn baby understands, I would rather not risk it."

"Alright then, you win." Tasha sighed as she realized it wasn't worth fighting over. "So what do we do?"

"We would have to decide on her name. Or at the very least begin discussing the subject of her name."

Tasha rolled her eyes. "To be honest, Data, I don't really care what name she gets. You're the one who's mainly going to take care of the kid; I think you should be the one to decide on the name."

"That is very generous of you, Tasha. However, I would appreciate your opinion nonetheless."

"Why? Wait: don't tell me." She chuckled. "You checked into the Federation databanks and came up with a billion different names. And now you're wondering on what grounds to choose one."

Data frowned. "Basically, that is correct. But there are not a billion. A mere 3,653,114 in fact. Human female names known to be used since the beginning of mankind, that is. The exact number of existing female names in the entire Federation is unknown, but linguistic experts estimate it to be..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Tasha held out her hands in defense. "I believe you. But what do you need _me_ for then? You're more than well equipped to sift through those three million something yourself, aren't you?"

He nodded. "I am. But apart from the fact that it is generally considered appropriate for the mother to at least approve of the name for her child, there is also the problem of a minor hiatus in my programming: I do not perceive any aesthetical difference between one word and the other. Or one name and the other. It is this aesthetical decision for which I am dependent on your input."

"Alright, let's have it then." She put aside the padd she'd been working on and patted on the couch. "Come and sit down," she clarified as she saw his puzzled frown at the gesture.

He did as he was told, and Tasha asked: "First of all: whose last name is the kid going to use: Yar or Data?"

Data looked mildly surprised. "Since Data is not really a family name, I simply assumed she would be using your name: Yar. Was that a faulty assumption?"

She grinned. "No, it's fine with me. But if it's okay with you, I'd like to use Data for a middle name then. Just so that there can be no mistake that you're the father."

He nodded. "That would be very fitting. Thank you for suggesting it, Tasha."

"Right. Now a first name. I suppose you have a short list ready?"

"Not yet." Data blinked. "Accessing..."

Tasha leaned back, thinking it would take him a few minutes to go through three and a half million names.

Instead, it took him less than a second. "I have selected eighty-two names. Would you like me to present them randomly, or in alphabetical order?"

Tasha sat up again in surprise. "That's quick. Well, give me the names in alphabetical order then."

And Data recited: "Ahuva, Aiko, Aimée, Amanda, Amata, Amorie, Amorita, Amy, Angharad, Anuragini, Aziza, Canan, Caoimhe, Cara, Carina, Carissa, Carita, Caryl, Chaviva, Chere, Chérie, Cheryl, Daralis, Darla, Darlene, Darlyn, Darrell, Dava, Daveen, Davidina, Davienne, Davinia, Davita, Davynn, Dodie, Dragana, Ema, Esme, Esmée, Ezara, Ezaria, Habiba, Ismay, Kalila, Karisha, Keeva, Keiko, Kendi, Kylila, Kyra, Lais, Lal, Leola, Libbedina, Liefke, Lieve, Lioba, Liudmila, Livia, Livina, Lowellyn, Luvena, Mairin, Maitagarri, Maleeya, Mandy, Mindy, Morna, Muirne, Myrna, Penda, Priya, Qava, Querida..."

"Stop! Data, _stop_!"

Data closed his mouth and regarded her quizzically. "Is something 'up', Tasha?"

"Yes! How can I possibly distinguish the nice and the horrible ones if you just rattle them off like that? Slow down, will you? And you better start all over again – I don't recall more than two or three so far."

"As you wish." Data already opened his mouth to rehearse his list again.

But Tasha beat him to it: "Besides, what's with these names? What made you pick these eighty-two?"

He gave her a steady look. "In their respective languages, these are the eighty-two existing female names that mean 'beloved'. Considering that as her main parent, I will be able to provide her with everything she needs _except_ the so needed basic emotion of feeling loved, I decided that I could at least make sure that she rationally understands that she is beloved indeed – every time I use her name."

Tasha stared at him, her eyes softening. "Aw, Data, that is so sweet... You're going to be the best father a kid could possibly wish for. Even without the emotions."

"I will do my best," Data acknowledged.

A deep breath. "Okay, let's get back to those names. One at a time, please, so I have a chance to decide whether I like them or not." She hesitated. "Are you sure you like them all equally?"

"Affirmative. I perceive no aesthetic difference between them. The choice is yours."

"Alright. The first one then."

"Ahuva."

"Sounds horrible. That one's out."

"Aiko."

"I kinda like that one. Nice and short. Keep it in for now."

"Aimée."

"What's that, French?"

"Affirmative."

"But it's out. It sounds terrible together with Yar: Aimée Yar. With such a short last name, you can't have the emphasis on the last syllable of the first name. Out."

"Amanda."

"Amanda Yar. That's not too bad. Keep it in."

"Amata."

...

* * *

.

_Author's note: I haven't quite made up my mind yet. What do you think she would choose? More suggestions of names that mean 'beloved' are welcome, too!_


	12. Something else that never happened

Tasha leaned over her security console and tried to hide her scowl. Not three meters from where she was standing were Worf and Commander Riker – discussing the possible winners of the upcoming martial arts tournament. And it stung.

They should have been discussing _her_ chances, too. She wasn't Chief of Security for nothing: she knew she could beat all her fellow crewmembers in most – if not all disciplines of the martial arts. Yet here she was, pregnant and all, with a standing veto on engaging in _any_ martial arts for another few months. She wasn't even allowed to practise just for fun!

Okay, granted: with a twenty-three weeks' baby-belly (going on twenty-four), it probably wouldn't be so much fun anyway. Not only was her steadily expanding belly beginning to impair even her normal movements, she had also become aware that she had grown rather wary of bumping her round belly into things. Some maternal protective instinct no doubt.

She sighed. Perhaps she should have accepted Riker's gift last week when he had the power of the Q. Everybody knew how she longed for this pregnancy ordeal to be over and done with, and Will Riker was no exception. So when it was her turn, he had 'simply' plucked the baby right out of her womb and deposited it – fully grown – in Data's arms, off-handedly restoring her body to its usual tawny, well-trained agility.

She had gasped with the sudden changes in her body, but then she had felt a rush of exhiliration at having the familiar feel of her own body back. _Her_ body, all to herself.

It had lasted but a moment. For the next thing she knew, she was suddenly aware that this felt wrong. Totally and completely _wrong_. The baby was _supposed_ to stay with her for a few more months. With all the inconveniences that came with it, she suddenly realized that she really did want to fulfill that task. By herself. Without magical interference, no matter how well it was meant. It was_ her_ task; not Riker's. And especially not Q's.

She had glanced over at the science console. Data was contemplating the situation of having their sleeping daughter in his arms more than three months ahead of time; his face a frown of worried incomprehension. The girl was wearing a white and baby-pink little dress, Tasha had noticed. She hated pink, but she had to admit she looked actually kind of sweet as she lay there in Data's arms, unconsciously sucking on her fingers. Was that what lay ahead of her?

She had taken a deep breath to steady herself. And another one. And placed her trembling hand on her flat and muscular belly. It wasn't right. It was _her_ task to...

"Put her back."

Will Riker had whisked around to face her. "What did you say?" Incredulously.

A shaky breath. "Put her back where she was. _As_ she was. This isn't right, sir. _Put her back_! And if this meddling of yours has caused her _any_ harm, I guarantee I will have your head! Put her back! _Now_!"

Riker had blinked. "As you wish," he had muttered demurely.

The sudden reappearance of the bulky weight in her belly had made her gasp again. Other organs were forced back to the side, the slight backache that had been bothering her all day made itself felt once more... and was it just her imagination, or was her renewed baby-belly really heavier than before?

Shortly afterwards, when everything had returned to normal (Will Riker included), she had sought out Dr. Crusher to have her worries examined and hopefully dismissed. The doctor had done a complete examination, but to the relief of either, she could not detect any extraordinary changes in the baby since the last examination two days ago. And she attributed her experiencing an increase of weight to her perception of it; after all, this time the full weight of a nearly six months gone pregnancy had suddenly been dumped on her, whereas before she had gradually gotten used to the same weight as it slowly accumulated over six months time.

She heaved a sigh. It had been the eeriest experience, but it had made her – up till now rather unwilling – decision crystal clear: she was going to carry out this pregnancy to full term because whether she liked it or not, it's what she _wanted_. Even if it meant foregoing on the martial arts tournament this year.

She was suddenly aroused from her reverie by Worf's sharp, "Sir, I'm receiving an emergency transmission from the shuttle!"

Instantly she jerked her mind back to the here and now, and fiddled with the controls to comply with the Captain's order of putting the transmission on the main viewer. But they were receiving audio only.

"Open the frequency," Picard ordered.

"Aye, sir."

And there was the voice of Lt. Prieto, who piloted the shuttle carrying Counselor Troi. "What a jolt!"

"Position report." Riker, cool as always.

But the pilot's reply was only more cause to worry. "Sir, I have an on board systems failure. You'll have to tell me where I am."

"I read your coordinates at 370.236," Geordi supplied. "Confirm."

"I can't confirm. My instruments are haywire."

The Captain suddenly stood. "Lt. Prieto, is Counselor Troi alright?"

"Yes, sir," came the answer from the pilot. "Just a little shaken. We're being buffeted a bit." Suddenly his voice went up in alarm: "Losing more power! My flight control computer is fried!"

"Main Engineering!" the Captain barked.

"Lt. Commander Leland T. Lynch here, sir," came the smooth acknowledgement of their new Chief Engineer over the comm system, and Tasha saw how the Captain visibly forced himself to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"How long before we could return to warp power?"

"Captain, I'm in the middle of realigning the dilithium crystals," came the answer back.

"There's an emergency and we need warp drive. How long?"

"Twenty minutes. Maybe more." He sounded almost apologetic now.

"We don't have it, Mr. Lynch," the Captain insisted.

And as the two of them continued to bicker back and forth a little more, Geordi suddenly informed the unfortunate shuttle pilot that he was getting dangerously close to a planet.

Warnings and acknowledgements flying back and forth, another appeal to Engineering, and then...

"We're out of control! We're caught in the planet's gravity!"

Silence.

* * *

The Captain had made a supplemental entry to the ship's log. But after the warp engines had come online and they sped off to the planet Vagra II, there was nothing on the bridge but silent tension, and fear for their comrades' lives. It seemed to take hours before Vagra II came up on the main screen, even though in fact it was a matter of minutes.

Geordi had only just manoeuvered the Enterprise into standard orbit when Worf spoke up. "I've located the shuttle!"

"Life signs?" Even Picard's voice had an edge to it.

"Not yet, sir," Worf replied. "Still probing. It appears to be buried under a lot of debris."

Commander Riker hurried up the ramp to join him in the search, but Worf already announced that he had something. "Faint life signs. Very faint."

"How many?" Riker urged. She could hear the anxiety in his voice.

"There is no way telling from here," Worf informed him.

She saw the Captain turn to Data. "Data, can we beam up the injured?"

"No, sir." Data glanced at the readings displayed on his console. "Our sensors are not fully penetrating whatever the debris is."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "That is very unusual."

"Yes, sir. I cannot explain."

Heavily, the Captain lowered himself into his chair. "Number One, prepare your away team."

Commander Riker practically stormed past her, calling for Data and DeRosas to join him.

And through her worry for Deanna and the pilot, Tasha felt a pang of jealousy. A by now quite familiar pang of jealousy. For ensuring the security of an away team was _her_ job. Or should be her job. And even after all these months, it still hurt to be 'overlooked'. To see someone else being ordered into the real adventures of space...

* * *

Waiting. Always waiting.

Tasha chewed on her lip and absent-mindedly rubbed the top of her baby-belly to try and relieve the slightly itchy feeling there.

The bridge was silent. Oh, how she hated this: being up here while her colleagues might be facing goodness knows what dangers. And until – _if_ – they'd find a moment to report in, all she could do was worry!

Finally, there was the familiar chirp. "Enterprise, this is Riker. We've got a problem."

Tasha tensed, automatically and unnecessarily primed for immediate defense.

"What kind of problem, Number One?"

"I'm not sure yet," came Riker's voice back. "There appears to be a kind of slick blocking our path. We'll keep you apprised."

Picard nodded, though she was the only one to see of course. "Maintain an open frequency," he ordered to her relief – that way at least they had some idea of what was going on down there.

They heard Riker's, "Aye, sir," and a few moments later: "Analysis, Mr. Data?"

"Inconclusive, sir," came Data's clipped voice floating up to them. "I cannot tell you what it is, but I can tell you what it is not."

"Explain." Rather exasperated, Tasha thought. But she had to admit: Data could be exasperating at times.

Data's explanation was already coming up through the comm channel: "There is no evidence of neural or circulatory systems. No internal organs. And cellular structure unknown. It does not have any proteins which are known to us."

Suddenly Dr. Crusher's voice cut in – she had joined the away team, too, in order to take care of their stranded shuttlers. "It's narrower over here. We can get over it."

Tasha held her breath as she heard a light rustle, as from clothes. But the discussion continued in the same vein. "How is it moving, Data?"

Had Dr. Crusher thought the better of jumping over that moving slick? Had someone stopped her? There was no indication that the situation had changed down there.

Meanwhile, they heard Data say: "I do not know, sir. It does not appear to have a skeletal framework or musculature."

What _was_ it that they were seeing? Oh, if only she could...!

"Then what's causing it to move?" Riker again.

And Data's astonishing conjecture: "It appears to be following us, sir."

Were they being chased by a slick? !

Commander Riker spoke again. "No sign of intelligence, no brain as we know it, yet evidence... of thought, Mr. Data?"

"Insufficient information, sir."

Tasha almost smiled; he sounded almost apologetic.

"Is it a life form, Data?" the Captain cut in.

"Again: insufficient information, sir."

"Theorize," Picard ordered.

And Data's answer: "It is possible."

Suddenly a deep, menacing voice joined the conversation. "Very good, tin man."

Tasha grabbed her console so hard that her knuckles went wide. She wasn't frightened easily, but that voice... those slushy noises... She shuddered as she felt how she suddenly got goosebumps all over.

The Captain asked hurriedly: "What is it, Number One? What are you seeing?"

An audible breath over the comm. "Trouble."

Out of nowhere, Tasha suddenly felt her stomach convulse with such force that she but barely made it to the toilet at the side of the bridge in time. Totally overwhelmed by fear, and by this apparent return of her spells of sickness, she emptied her stomach the wrong way up. For the first time in over two months?

Why now? she wondered vaguely as she rinsed her mouth and tried to regain control over her trembling body. Why is it that this creature terrifies me so much?

But those contemplations would have to wait; right now she had an away team down on an unknown planet, facing some strange, unsettling creature preventing them from getting to their injured crewmates. Her place was on the bridge, at her station.

So ramrod, with her head high, she returned to her post. With her fists clenched to hide the trembling.

Worf had taken her place, and stepped aside with a quiet inquiry regarding her health.

"I'm fine," she lied, and focussed on the discussion down on Vagra II again just in time to hear Riker say: "We believe everything in the universe has a right to exist."

"An interesting notion which I do not share."

She repressed a renewed shudder. There really was something in that semi-metallic voice that gave her the creeps.

It now said: "You may leave now, if you wish."

"We're not going without our shuttle crew." DeRosas, gentle as always.

"I warn you..." the creature began.

But DeRosas's gentleness turned to determination. "Enough! We have people who need attention. We won't hurt you, but we must help them." DeRosas was so much like herself...

Suddenly there was the sound of a smack. And a dull thud, immediately followed by phaserfire.

"Number One!" the Captain called.

The whine of phaserfire stopped. "The creature attacked us. Lt. DeRosas is down."

A piercingly cold finger crept up her spine. The shaking got worse.

"It seems to feed on our phaser energy," she heard Data add, calm as always.

And Riker concurring: "We had no effect on it."

Silence. Only the splashy sounds of something dredging through mire. For some reason, she was absolutely terrified! What was that creature up to?

"What's Lt. DeRosas's condition?" Picard urged. "Dr. Crusher, report!"

A sharp intake of breath was heard. "She's dead."

Silence reigned the bridge once more as everyone took that in. Tasha's mind was reeling. As was the bridge – she grabbed her console for support. _'It should have been _me_, it should have been _me_, it should have been _me_!' _voices shouted in her head._ '_I_ should have been down there! _I_ should have died there! It was _my_ turn to... '_

Suddenly, everything went black.

* * *

She came to on a biobed in sickbay, with Dr. Hill passing a medical tricorder over her. "What happened?" she asked weakly.

"You fainted." Dr. Hill glanced across the ward to where Dr. Crusher was frantically trying to revive the young lieutenant.

Tasha followed his gaze, and suddenly she remembered. "Myra!" She sat up abruptly. Far too abruptly according to the doctor, and he quickly grabbed her arm as she swung down her legs and slid off the high bed. But although the world around her wasn't quite steady, she shrugged off his hand and moved towards the center of the action, steadying herself on the biobeds she passed to join Data and Commander Riker.

Without a word they watched Dr. Crusher and her assistant trying to bring young Myra DeRosas back to the land of the living. One electrical shockwave after another was sent through her still body. But even the most hopeful mind couldn't help but register that DeRosas's body responded less and less to these urges to live.

And just as the Captain joined them in their corner, Dr. Crusher was forced to face the horrible truth, too. "She's gone."

Once more, Tasha was overwhelmed by an unexplicable understanding that seemed to paralyze her. A notion that this was wrong, so wrong! That a mistake had been made; that _she_ was the one who should have died today with that ugly black blotch on her face.

She began to tremble again. Terribly this time. Her lips quivered, her blood pounded in her ears, her knees buckled under her, and if it hadn't been for Riker grabbing her by the elbows, she might very well have fainted again.

"Doc!" he called out to the quickly approaching Dr. Hill.

A sob welled up from Tasha's throat. "This is wrong! It's _my_ fault!"

"Hush now," the doctor said. "Just put her on the biobed, Commander. We'll take care of her."

* * *

"Tasha?" Dr. Crusher looked down at the curled up figure on the biobed. "Tasha?" She placed her hand on Tasha's shoulder, and Tasha started upright. "What? Doc!"

"I hear you wanted to talk to me. How are you feeling?" She ran her medical tricorder over her, but when Tasha suddenly burst out in tears, she put away the instrument and enveloped the distressed security chief in a warm embrace.

Tasha clung to her as if she were clutching a life buoy, and the doctor had an involuntary smile as she felt the round baby-belly being pressed up against her own – with soft baby kicks every now and then to melt her heart even further.

She rubbed Tasha's back to help her calm down. True, no human being could be expected to remain completely calm and collected when they lost someone under their command – someone whose safety they were ultimately responsible for. But Tasha seemed to take it particularly hard this time.

Tasha pulled away as soon as she was somewhat able to control herself. "Doc... it's all my fault."

She raised her eyebrows. "That Lt. DeRosas died? Tasha, you..."

"No, you don't understand," Tasha interrupted her. "This is all wrong. _I_ am the one who should have been killed today!"

The doctor put a comforting hand on Tasha's knee. "Tasha, I know it's hard to lose someone under your command. But her death really isn't your fault. I was there, remember? And I assure you that there's nothing you could have done that would have altered what happened down there."

"Except my being there in her place." Tasha's voice was pinched, as if she were on the verge of tears again.

"Yes, but you weren't." She sighed. "Seems to me you're suffering from survivor's guilt."

Tasha shook her head. "No. That's not it. I know what that feels like; I've lost crewmembers before. Friends, too. This is different."

"In what way?"

Tasha took a deep breath to try and steady herself. (How many times had she done that today?) "I don't really know how to explain. It began with that creepy creature's voice – it made the hairs at the back of my neck stand up in alarm. It was almost as if... as if I _knew_ that thing. Not for real; from a dream or something. And somehow I just knew that this was it. The end. That in the order of things, my death was next on the menu. _I _was supposed to be down there; and _I_ was supposed to be the one who got killed. And if it hadn't been for this baby, that's exactly what would have happened. And now Myra DeRosas went on the away team in my place. And... died in my place." She gulped. "It's wrong. Horribly wrong. It's like we've veered off into the wrong universe at some point. That in the real universe, I did _not_ get pregnant, so _I_ was the one who went down to Vagra II and got killed. And that – somehow – I seem to know."

Dr. Crusher contemplated this. "It sounds a little far-fetched, but I think I understand, yes. And out here, it certainly is not an _im_possibility." She sighed. "But how are we ever going to find out if it's true?"

Tasha had a defeated shrug. "I don't know. But it does make me feel awful that... that indirectly, I'm the... the cause... of..." Sudden sobs took over, and drowned out anything else she was going to say.

Dr. Crusher held out her arms. "Hey, come here," she invited as she pulled their crying security chief in her arms. "It's okay to cry. You're terribly upset. We all are."

Tasha just clung to her again, heartily ashamed of her tears, but unable to stop them. "I just can't seem to stop crying. What's wrong with me, doc?"

"You're pregnant, that's all. It's just your hormones acting up. I wouldn't worry about it." Dr. Crusher eased herself free and half smiled. "But it seems your daughter doesn't quite approve of such tight embraces anymore. We'd better give her some space, shan't we?"

Tasha's face was a mere question mark. "What do you mean?" She brushed at her tears, but more kept coming.

Dr. Crusher almost dropped her jaw. "Didn't you feel that?"

Uncertain as to what the doctor was referring to, Tasha glanced down at the gentle curve of her belly. "Feel what?"

"The kicking!" The doctor reached out her hand. "May I?"

"Sure."

A hand was placed on the top of her belly, and within seconds, the doctor cried: "There! Didn't you feel that?"

"Um... yes. But I thought..." Tasha rubbed her face. "I didn't know what it was. I've felt that for... I don't know how long. It just never occurred to me it could be... _her_."

Dr. Crusher shook her head in astonishment. Of all the things...! "Well, it _is_ her," she assured the mother-to-be. She took Tasha's hand and placed it over the area presently under attack. "Feel it?"

"Yes." Tasha hesitated. "Does that mean she's alright?"

"Alive and kicking. There'd be something seriously wrong if she _didn't_. And soon she'll be depriving you of a lot of sleep kicking around like that."

Tasha scowled. "Great. Something else to look forward to."

The doctor grinned. "Oh, it'll pass. Don't worry. Once she gets so big that she only just fits in there, she won't have much room left for acrobatics."

Tasha attempted another scowl to hide the returning grin. "Thank you, doctor. Knowing that gives me great comfort."

"I knew it would." She helped Tasha off the biobed. "Anyway, you're free to leave sickbay, but I hereby order you off-duty until further notice. Understood? For even _you_ must agree that we can't have our security personnel fainting on us."

* * *

Together with the Captain, Lt. DeRosas's friends, Lt. Yar, Counselor Troi – apparently returned to reasonably good health – and the other members of the away team, Data filed obediently into holodeck 5. He looked around at the program with curiosity, not quite knowing what to expect. Nor what was expected of _him_.

It was the first time in his activated life that he got to attend a memorial gathering for a fallen crewmate. On the U.S.S. Trieste they had never bothered to invite him, but Captain Picard had been adamant that he should attend tonight, being one of the last to have seen Lt. DeRosas alive. So here he was – an android with no feelings in an atmosphere of sorrow, amidst a group of hurt and shocked humans, all grieving for their lost friend.

The Captain stepped up on the grassy slope, and began to speak in his gentle voice. "We are here together to honour our friend and comrade Lt. Myra DeRosas. Coming to terms with the loss of a colleague..."

A sudden explosion of violent tears but two meters in front of him distracted him from the Captain's voice. He frowned. There was no doubt where the sound came from, but... Lt. Yar crying? He had never seen her cry.

He watched her jerking shoulders, and glanced over to Counselor Troi for guidance as to what he should do. Was it not his task as the prospective father to keep Lt. Yar happy?

But Counselor Troi apparently wasn't aware of his questioning gaze: she was crying, too. Unlike Lt. Yar, she made no sound, and her shoulders didn't jerk, but he could clearly distinguish the glistening tears streaming down her cheeks. She and Commander Riker were standing very close together, and the Commander held his arm tightly wrapped around the Counselor's shoulders. And she seemed to appreciate its position, as well as his close proximity.

Data knew that Counselor Troi and Commander Riker were good friends – a friendship dating back from before their assignment to the U.S.S. Enterprise. According to the on board gossip, they were ex-lovers – whatever that may imply. It seemed to suggest that they had once been the most important person in the other's life. Perhaps that was the reason why they chose to face their sorrow together? Even physically close?

It looked like Lt. Yar could do with a friend like that, too. But was there anyone here whom she was close enough to in order to take on that role for her? Or would just about anyone do?

Perhaps he should give it a try himself. He knew Tasha regarded him as a good friend – sort of. His help might not be very effective in this case, considering that he lacked even the rudiments of emotion, but maybe the mere physical proximity of a friend might provide her at least with some support.

He studied the position of Commander Riker's arm for a moment; then he stepped quietly up to the sobbing Lt. Yar. He positioned his right arm around her shoulders in an exact copy of the Commander's – and was startled by her throwing herself against his chest in response.

She buried his face against his shoulder, clasped her arms around him, and her body jerked uncontrollably as she tried to swallow back her tears in vain.

"Tasha?" he ventured under his breath, not quite knowing how to react. All he had intended to do was putting an arm around her shoulders, but how did one deal with a lady crying at one's chest?

A quick search of his memory banks revealed that the most logical and customarily preferred response among humans was for him to put his arms around her in return.

So he did.

And as he stood there listening to the Captain's words, with Tasha soaking his chest with tears, a flicker of comprehension suddenly dawned on him. Comprehension that _this_ might very well be the practical execution of what Counselor Troi had put so elusively a few months ago: _'to be there for her when she needs it'_.

To be there for Tasha when she needed it. That was what he was doing. Most intriguing!

And he attempted a proud smile of satisfaction.

* * *

.

_Author's Note: As most of you will have noticed, this chapter contains huge chunks of both plot and dialogue from the episode __**Skin of Evil**__ (written by Joseph Stefano and Hannah Louise Shearer), as well as a little twist on the plot of the episode __**Hide and Q**__ (written by C. J. Holland and Gene Roddenberry). _

_According to their stardates, these events were only a few days apart._


	13. Trying out what never happened

"I don't know." Tasha looked down at her bathing-suit clad body. "I look hideous in this. Huge."

Deanna stopped folding her bathrobe and looked her friend over from top to toe. "You look pregnant," she remarked as cool as a cucumber. "And that's exactly what you are, so what do you expect?"

"I don't know. But it's so... so hideously _obvious_ this way." Tasha began to put on her bathrobe again. "I don't think I want to do this."

"Oh, come on. Swimming is a great way to stay in shape when you're pregnant. It's one of the very few sports you can keep up till you're practically in labour. And I've been told that a baby-belly is no inconvenience at all in the water."

Tasha still hesitated.

"Come on. At least give it a try," Deanna pleaded in her most persuasive mode. "Besides, there's no one here but you and me. And we've locked the program, so no one else will come barging in and see you like this."

That convinced her. "Alright then." She sat down at the side of the pool and slid into the cool water.

Deanna jumped in with a splash. "Race you to the other side and back!" she announced, and took off at a swift crawl stroke without waiting for acknowledgement.

Her confidence in Tasha's competitive streak was not misplaced: they made their turn synchronically, and by the time they got back to their starting point, Tasha was a good two meters ahead of her.

"Beat you." Tasha grinned from ear to ear.

Deanna brushed her wet curls out of her face. "I told you that belly wouldn't bother you."

"You want a rematch?"

"Any time."

With Tasha on a high from the realization that when in water, her pregnant body could still keep up with her competitive mind, they kept racing each other across the pool for well over an hour. And even Deanna Troi, who was considered one of the better swimmers on the ship, managed to beat her only the few times when Tasha got a bit lax from winning all the time. And when they finally climbed out of the pool, they were both happily exhausted.

"Let's take a nice, relaxing sun bath," Deanna suggested. "We've worked hard for the past hour. I think we deserve it."

Tasha agreed, and they spread out their towels on the soft holodeck grass. "I had no idea you were _such_ a good swimmer," Tasha commented as she lay down. "I had heard you were good, but I really had to give my all to beat you."

Deanna chuckled. "Now that's what I call a compliment." She shook her curls, causing water drops to fly all around. "I've been swimming all my life. My parents made sure I could swim before I was three years old."

"Isn't that a little young?"

Deanna shrugged as she lay down next to her. "I suppose so, yes. I have no idea why they were so adamant about it. Parental pride perhaps. It wasn't like there was a lot of water around where we lived. But I really enjoyed swimming, so I didn't mind."

They were silent for a moment. Tasha closed her eyes and absent-mindedly stroked her round belly. "I could do with a nap," she mumbled.

"Well, I'm not stopping you," came Deanna's lazy answer.

Tasha grimaced. "Afternoon naps are not included in the job description of a security chief, Counselor."

"You won't have to live according to the job description of a security chief for another few months," Deanna gently pointed out.

And got no reply.

For it was true. No matter how she had protested the decision, Dr. Crusher had put her foot down after her collapse following the tragedy with Myra DeRosas, and had officially ordered their Chief of Security to go on maternity leave right away.

The past couple of weeks Tasha had spent a lot of time with Deanna, and for once she hadn't objected to her prying around in her mind. Her thoughts and feelings on Myra's death were so complicated and confused, that it was actually a relief _not_ to have to put them into words. And maybe for the first time in her life, she had experienced counseling as something positive. Something to help her sort things out. Cope with a tragedy that for some reason had totally overwhelmed her. Of course she still kept lots of private skeletons locked away, but she was grateful for Deanna's help in dealing with this particularly unsettling one.

"You know," Tasha began at last. "I've been thinking."

"Mm?"

"Maybe we should call the baby Myra."

Deanna turned her head and squinted against the sun at Tasha. "Because she sort of died in your place?"

"Yes. In a way, if it hadn't been for this baby, _I_ would have died in Myra's place. So you could say the baby is taking her place. It would seem fitting."

"It would certainly be a nice gesture, yes."

Tasha sighed. "The problem is, that I don't want to push that name down Data's throat."

Deanna raised her eyebrows in confusion. "Didn't you tell me last week that Data needed _you_ to choose a name because of his own lack of aesthetical preferences in the matter?"

"That's the point." She took a deep breath and blew it out again. "I would much rather go with _his_ wishes, for he's the one who's mostly going to take care of her. And he would like to give her a name that means 'beloved'; to make sure that she _knows_ that she is loved, even if he insists he can't give her any real love."

Deanna smiled. "I wouldn't be too sure of that. From what I've seen, I think he's going to be an awesome father."

"No doubt about it," Tasha agreed. "But the point is: he made a list of some eighty girls' names that mean 'beloved' for me to choose from. But if I go to him now and tell him that I'd like to call the kid Myra, then he'll just say, 'Okay, Myra it is'."

"And you don't want him to say that."

"Exactly."

"Can't you have Myra for a middle name then?"

"We've already agreed to use Data for a middle name. To make sure there can be no doubt that he's the father."

"I see." Silence. "And what does Myra mean? Is it anything close to 'beloved'?"

"Not really. I looked it up: it means 'wonderful', or 'abundance'." She sat up abruptly. "Deanna, you're an angel! You've solved the entire problem!"

"I did?" Deanna arched her eyebrows in surprise. "So tell me: what's it going to be?"

"Uh-uh." Tasha chuckled. "You're going to have to wait till she's born, just like everyone else. But you may pride yourself on having helped me reach a decision that satisfies both Data's wishes and my own."

"Now you're really making me curious. But I'll exercise my patience." Deanna sat up, too. Clearly, Tasha was far too excited about having made up her mind about the child's name to be able to relax on a bath sheet again, so why not take the opportunity to...? "So what do you say we get dressed and go visit the nursery now?"

Tasha's face fell instantly. "Right now? We can do that some other time, can't we? I thought we were going to relax in the sun!"

"I've never known you to lie still and do nothing for more than ten minutes," Deanna smugly pointed out.

"But I'm learning." Tasha lay down on her back again and closed her eyes. "Soon that'll be all I can do."

"Exactly." Deanna grimaced. "So you better come and visit the nursery while you're still mobile."

Tasha scowled.

"Tasha, you've been dodging it for weeks; it's about time you get some practice in how to handle a baby."

"But Data's going to take care of her most of the time anyway. So why should _I_ have to learn?"

"Because she's bound to be left in your care occasionally, too. And besides, it'd be good for you to acquaint yourself a little with the world of babies and young children."

An even darker scowl.

"And if you come with me now, you'll have a reasonable excuse to cut the visit short, since I'm to meet Will for a crew evaluation in less than an hour."

"Alright, alright." Tasha got up and picked up her towel and bathrobe. "Shall we say outside the nursery in half an hour?"

But Deanna wasn't born yesterday. "I'll come by your quarters. In ten _minutes_." And with that, she quickly walked off the holodeck before any protests could be voiced.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later they got out of the turbolift on what was known as the children's deck. This was where the school, the nursery and the children's after school activities were located, including an area where the younger children could sleep when their parents were working a nightshift.

Tasha looked around uncomfortably. She didn't feel as awkward around youngsters as the Captain, but her experience with especially young children wasn't such that she felt quite at ease around them either. And so far, neither in her role as the ship's Chief of Security had she had a lot of business on this deck.

It was a very open area. Most of the corridor walls had large windows, permitting a free view of what was going on inside the rooms. She noticed Wesley bent over some essay in one of the high school groups.

And there was the nursery. A combination of pastels and brightly coloured accents. Three grown-ups and...

Deanna led her straight inside. "Hi Kamna," she said to a young woman who just put down a toddler.

"Hello Deanna." She came towards them. "And you must be Lieutenant Yar."

Tasha scowled. She hated how the whole ship could see by now that she was pregnant. There was just no way to hide that tell-tale belly anymore.

But Kamna talked on. "Do you realize that you're going to have the honour of being the first to give birth on the Enterprise-D?"

Tasha raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I am?"

"Oh yes!" The head of the nursery went on telling her about some geologist's wife who could have beaten her to it, had she not chosen to remain on Mars for the delivery of her baby, only joining her husband on board as late as last month, when their daughter was already three months old. But Tasha's attention had already wandered off.

There were eight children in the room, ranging in age from babies to what she guessed to be two-year-olds. The younger ones were aimlessly crawling around, or sucking on some large plastic toy, while the older ones were busying themselves with activities that more clearly seemed to indicate either play or exploration.

What did babies actually _do_, she wondered bleakly. Those toddlers, who walked and even talked a little, looked like much more fun to interact with than those hapless little babies. And how were you ever to know what a baby wanted if they couldn't tell you?

The problem presented itself on cue as one of the younger babies began to whine, and Kamna went over to pick her up. And deposited her without further do in the arms of a totally bewildered Tasha. "Let's start nice and easy, with a bottle," she said, and guided Tasha to an easy chair in the far corner. "I won't be a moment with the bottle."

Anxiously, Tasha looked down at the whimpering child in her arms. "What am I supposed to _do_?"

"Feed her, I suppose." Deanna smiled. "Just relax. You'll be okay."

"But how do you know she's hungry? Maybe she's in pain, or... What if I _drop_ her?" Her voice shot up in alarm.

"You're not going to drop her; you're doing just fine. You're holding her like a true professional. Now why don't you sit down?"

"But...!"

Deanna was suddenly aware of the intense urge to flee that radiated from Tasha, and she realized they were simply moving too fast. Tasha may be six and a half months pregnant, but obviously she wasn't quite ready to face up to the reality of holding a baby in her arms. She had to act quickly, before the mother-to-be would simply bolt out of the room. "How about I take her first, and you watch what I do. And then you give it a try."

"Yes. _Please_!" Tasha's relief was practically tangible as Deanna lifted the child from her arms.

The child began to cry louder as Deanna sat down with her.

"What's wrong with her?" Tasha cried in distress.

Deanna smiled. "I'd say she prefers your arms." She let the baby suck on her finger, but it only appeased the child for a moment.

Fortunately, there was Kamna back with the bottle. She made no comment on the baby having changed hands, but she handed the bottle to Tasha nonetheless. "Babies are actually fairly easy to satisfy. Just give little Sandra here the bottle and she'll be happy."

Tasha hesitated. "Can she hold it herself?"

"Not quite yet," Kamna answered. "So you'll have to give her the bottle in her mouth."

Warily, Tasha brought the bottle closer to the baby's face. Hovering over her, and... the miracle occurred: as soon as the child felt the nipple in her mouth, she stopped crying and began to drink vigorously.

Tasha quickly let go of the bottle. And of the breath she hadn't been aware that she'd been holding. "It worked." She looked at Kamna. "How could you tell she was hungry?"

Kamna smiled. "Partly common sense: it had been a few hours since she had eaten. And partly from the way she was crying. Babies quickly develop different ways of crying," she explained to Tasha. "It's their way of communicating that they're hungry, or tired, or not feeling well, or bored. The parents, and others who regularly take care of the child, will soon learn to recognize these different ways of crying."

Tasha made no reply; she was quietly observing the eagerly drinking baby in Deanna's arms. Now that the kid was no longer crying, it didn't seem so bad anymore.

Deanna looked up. She sensed that Tasha's fear and panic had mostly dissipated. "Would you like to try now?" she offered. "We'll help you to hold the baby properly."

"No!" Tasha said quickly. Only to amend it with, "Or... I mean... well, _maybe_. If it's just for a minute?"

"Okay. Just for a minute. Come and sit down then." Deanna got up without letting go of the bottle, and Tasha sat down in her place. Kamna showed her how to position her arm in order to support the baby properly, and assured her that as long as she was sitting down, this one arm was sufficient to keep the child from falling.

And then Deanna placed the little Sandra in the waiting crook of Tasha's arm again.

Unfortunately, the bottle slipped in the process, and the child took to immediate protest, instantly raising Tasha's alarm again.

"Hey, little bawler, calm down," Kamna scolded the baby softly as she picked up the bottle and handed it to an already slightly panicking Tasha.

Deanna put her hand on Tasha's arm. "Take it easy now. Just give her the bottle again and she'll be fine. Nobody likes to have their meal interrupted," she assured her.

Nervously, Tasha did as she was told, and indeed: the child settled down right away.

"Now all you have to do is hold the bottle at such an angle that the nipple is always filled," Deanna instructed, and she gave Kamna a silent hint that she'd take care of the situation here further.

So while Kamna busied herself elsewhere, Deanna watched Tasha in silence, and noticed how she gradually relaxed. Apparently, Tasha was discovering that perhaps it wasn't as bad as she had expected. And when she finally got up, and quietly told her that she had to go to her evaluation meeting now, all she got in reply was a mumbled, "Just a minute."

And she smiled. And walked over to where Kamna was busy changing a toddler's diaper. "I have to go now. Just go easy on Tasha, okay? Don't push her into anything else today, unless she explicitly asks for it. Believe me: getting her to feed little Sandra was a giant leap for her."

They both looked back across the room. And witnessed how the tom-boy security chief of the Enterprise gently stroked the baby's head. And played with the shrimpfingers that clung to her little finger.

And Deanna smiled. "I haven't given up hope for her dawning maternal instincts yet."

* * *

The next day, Tasha returned to the nursery together with Data. They both had a go at picking up and laying down young babies, feeding them, letting them belch afterwards, changing a diaper, dressing and undressing, bathing, massaging, rocking them to sleep... Data merely needed to watch someone else do it once to be able to flawlessly execute the procedures himself.

"... which annoyed Tasha to no end," Kamna reported back to Counselor Troi a good two weeks later. "She's been coming in every day since to practise her skills, and even took one of our computer-dolls back to her quarters yesterday to perfect the art of diapering."

Deanna had a broad smile. "That's Tasha for you."

"But..." Kamna hesitated. "Is she really... I mean... Mr. Data, is he _really_ the father?"

Deanna nodded. "But you've got nothing to worry about: it's not some semi androidic cyborg kid you're going to have in your nursery. The baby is a clone of Tasha. Mr. Data wasn't designed to reproduce himself, but it turned out that in his performance of the sexual act he_ is_ capable of setting off a cloning process."

Kamna drew a sharp breath. "So she really did have sex with him? I had heard the rumours through the grapevine of course, but I couldn't believe it."

"It happened under the inhibiting influence of that virus from the Tsiolkovsky." She gave the head of the nursery a stern look. "Kamna, you know that I'm only telling you this on a need-to-know basis. With Data being the father, your worries about the child being a cyborg were justified, but all Dr. Crusher's tests show that the child is completely human, so you need not worry about that. However, Tasha's and Data's private life is their own business, and your oath of confidentiality and discretion regarding the nursery children and their parents applies as much to _them_ as it does to anyone else."

"Of course it does. Don't worry, I won't go around broadcasting this. And with the child being fully human, I could even give my staff an edited version, if that's what Tasha and Data would prefer."

Deanna smiled. "Good. I knew I could count on you."

"Still..." Kamna paused. "Off the record, you can't blame a girl for wondering what it'd be like. I mean: making love to a... _robot_..."

* * *

.

_Author's note: anyone dare to take an educated guess as to what Tasha has decided regarding the baby's name? _:-) _I promise it will be revealed in the next chapter!_


	14. Preparations for what never happened

Geordi had mentioned that evening that there were in fact other authors besides Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who had written excellent detective stories. And now that it was the ship's night, and everyone who wasn't on watch had gone to bed, Data had sat himself at his computer and had pulled up every detective story in the ship's library.

After devouring all of Poirot, Pim Pandoer, the Famous Five series, the Father Dowling mysteries, Kommissar Rex, Masterdetective Blomkvist, Baantjer, Wahllöö, Sayers, Maigret, and McCall's tales about Mma Ramotswe, he had come half way through the collected works of a prolific British author named Agatha Christie when his doorchime sounded.

"Come," he called without taking his eyes off the screen. But when he noticed it was Tasha entering, he halted the text flow and turned his full attention to her. "Tasha, are you alright? It is 01.51.36 a.m. You should be asleep at this hour."

Tasha grimaced. "You try and tell your daughter that. First she had a lengthy case of the hiccups, and when that finally passed, she decided it was time to practise her karate."

Taking her request literally, Data bent down towards her belly and said in a mildly reproving tone, "Myrna, it is imperative that you let your mother sleep now. She needs her rest. So please, postpone your martial exercises till the morning."

Tasha grinned. "Let's hope she listens better to her Dad than she does to her Mum." She sat down on the only other chair in the room. It wasn't a very comfortable one, since comfort was no issue for Data. But after four sleepless nights in a row on account of the little karate kid in her belly, anything was better than having to suffer through another nocturnal karate session on her own. At least now that Data wasn't on duty, she'd have some company. To help pass the time till little Myrna would tire of her callisthenics.

Data was watching her shirt covered baby-belly with intense interest. "She is still moving around, is she not?"

"You bet." Tasha winced at a particularly fierce kick in her lower ribs. "She's getting too big for it, but she doesn't seem to realize it."

Data's forehead creased to a worried frown. "According to all the medical reference books I have studied, she should have been able to hear us for several weeks now. Do you think there might be something wrong with her hearing?"

"I think she doesn't understand Federation Standard yet," Tasha deadpanned, and couldn't resist a chuckle at Data's relieved, "Ah!" Only to be rewarded another kick in the ribs. "I'd wish she'd stop kicking me in that exact same spot all the time," she groaned as she rubbed the area under attack.

"Perhaps Dr. Crusher can help?" Data suggested.

Tasha shook her head. "She says it's normal. And healthy for the baby to exercise her muscles. But I can't say I'm enjoying it." She straightened her back and shifted in her seat. But she knew full well it wasn't just the chair. It was her steadily growing baby-belly itself that was making it more and more difficult to get comfortable. In _any_ position. And to think that she still had nearly two months to go... "So what were you doing?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"On the computer," Tasha nodded. "When I came in. I hope I didn't disturb you in anything important?"

"Not at all. I was reading detective stories written by different authors, dating from the late 19th till the early 21st century. That period is commonly regarded as the golden age of the detective stories. And it is most intriguing to observe their many similarities, as well as their many differences. For example, did you know..." And with that, Data launched into one of those infamous, detail studded discourses on which he seemed to have patent, and which in Tasha's experience so far had never ended unless someone interrupted him.

She let him talk, but his words went in one ear and out the other. Never having read a detective in her life, she couldn't quite share his enthusiasm for the genre. Nor for reading in general for that matter.

Apart from having been made aware of the meaning of a few lifesaving words and symbols, she hadn't had any proper education on Turkana IV until she had escaped the hellhole on a Starfleet vessel at the age of fifteen. During the long voyage to Earth, some of the ship's crew had taken it upon them to teach her to read and write, as well as basic arythmatics. She still remembered her amazement at the discovery how easy reading actually was once you had mastered the code.

But once she had arrived on Earth, she had been eager to catch up on her formal and social education. She had managed to cram into four years of studies what 'normal' children did in fifteen, with the result that she'd had very little time for a personal exploration of human literature. She knew her obligatory classics alright, but that was about it. And not accustomed to reading merely for pleasure, neither her time at Starfleet Academy, nor her subsequent career in security had been much of an inducement to enrich her scanty knowledge of literature.

She rubbed the top of her belly that little Myrna still had under attack. She hoped, she really _wished_ they'd be able to give the little girl a more balanced education than she had had. And not just that, but a proper childhood, too. If only they'd have some experience to draw on as to how to go about it. With a father who had been 'born' as a grown-up, and a mother who'd been deprived of anything resembling a childhood...

Suddenly another thought struck her, and she sat up with a start and another kick in the ribs. "Data!"

He stopped talking what seemed to be mid-sentence, and immediately she felt bad.

"Yes, Tasha?"

That was the problem with Data: no matter how rude you were to him (be it by intention or entirely by accident, such as now), he never took offence. With the illogical result that you felt even worse. "I'm sorry, Data, I really am. I just thought of something. But I shouldn't have interrupted you like that. It was very rude of me. Sorry."

Data tilted his head a little. "It is of no consequence, Tasha. I was well aware that you were not listening; you were merely being polite."

"You call interrupting you like that polite?"

"No. But there is no need to make yourself uneasy. I was not offended. So what did you want to say?"

Tasha shook her head, still embarrassed by her own rudeness. "Never mind. It can wait."

Data raised his eyebrows. "It seemed important to you 33.623 seconds ago when you interrupted me. I would appreciate it if you would relate to me the particular thought that caused you to do so."

Tasha heaved a sigh (and got yet another kick in the ribs in return). "I was thinking... the baby, where are we going to keep her?"

Data glanced around in confusion. "Did we not agree that my quarters would serve as her home?"

"Yes, but..." She gestured around her. "Look at this place. It's so... so spartan. So _bare_. Nothing to liven up the place a bit."

Data blinked. "Do you mean my quarters need redecorating to suit her?"

"I think so, yes." Tasha got up and started wandering around in the two room cabin. As the ship's second officer, Data was actually entitled to one of the spacious quarters on deck 8. Instead, he had insisted he had no need for so much room, and seeing that – contrary to so many humans – he was not prone to claustrophobia either, he had been perfectly content with a standard officer's cabin on the inner parts of the saucer, leaving the larger cabin available to an officer's family with children. But apart from his specially advanced computer, two uncomfortable chairs, a small table and his very few personal belongings, it seemed he had done absolutely nothing to decorate the place.

"You don't even have a bed," Tasha continued from the doorway between the two rooms. "Where is she going to sleep? Shouldn't she need a... a crib or something?"

Data furrowed his brow. "You are right. That thought had not occurred to me. Most babies do tend to sleep a lot." He got up and joined her in the adjoining room that most officers used for a bedroom. "This could be her room." He looked around. "Is there anything in particular you wish me to change?"

"Yes: the colours, some child friendly furniture, some pictures on the wall, some toys..." Tasha suddenly got excited by the prospect. "Data, why don't you let me take care of this? I'm bored out of my mind anyway now that I can't work. This looks like a fun project to pass the time. And necessary, too. And I promise: I'll turn this room into the finest nursery you've ever seen!"

Data raised an eyebrow at her exuberance. "That should not prove to be too difficult. You will merely need to surpass the standard of the main nursery here on the Enterprise. It is the only nursery I have ever seen."

Tasha laughed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd finally grasped the concept of humor."

That surprised Data of course. "Was that funny? I was merely stating a fact."

"I know. That's what made it so funny."

Data already opened his mouth to require a more detailed explanation, but Tasha beat him to it. "Please, Data, let me decorate the nursery? Please, please, pretty please?"

"As you wish," was his simple answer. After all, he was to comply with her every wish.

"Good! And there's no time like the present. Where do you keep the catalogue of the ship's store?"

Data handed her his rarely used copy of the store's catalogue padd from one of the shelves behind his computer, and Tasha sat down cross-legged on the floor for her first venture into the unknown world of nursery decorating.

Data watched her for a moment. But she seemed to be so totally engrossed in this new adventure that he thought it safe to return to his detective stories. If she needed his help, surely she would ask.

When it was time for him to begin his shift, he found her peacefully asleep on the floor, still clutching the catalogue padd to her chest.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, Tasha practically lived in the ship's store. She occupied one of the store's holocabins for days on end to try out and match every suitable piece of furniture in the catalogue.

When she had finally come to a decision, the question arose what kind of lighting she wanted. Well aware that much of the atmosphere of a standard issue Enterprise cabin was determined by the way it was lit, she spent another few days on trying out all the different effects.

When that was decided upon, there were paintings and pictures to choose, and a thousand things that were apparently indispensable for taking care of an infant. And of course a few stuffed animals, and some brightly coloured baby-toys. ("It will be a while before she gets interested in those," the helpful shopkeeper had warned her, but Tasha just hadn't been able to resist their lure.)

And then she did something she had never thought possible: she spent two whole days choosing the sweetest little baby-outfits for their daughter.

And finally, when everything was beamed over to Data's quarters, she had a delightful day putting everything in place.

When Data returned to his quarters after his shift that evening, he found Tasha waiting for him at the door.

"Hello Tasha," he greeted her.

"Close your eyes," was her response.

He gave her a puzzled frown. "Why do you want me to close my eyes?"

"Because I want to show you something. Now close your eyes."

The frown got deeper. "How can I see what you want to show me when I have to keep my eyes closed?"

Tasha rolled her eyes. "Will you stop being so literal? Just close your eyes and follow me. It's a surprise. I'll tell you when you can look."

Data still didn't see the point, but as he had programmed himself to comply with anything Tasha wished in order to keep her happy, he closed his eyes and let her guide him into his cabin. His directional sensors told him that she manoeuvered him into what soon would serve as their child's nursery – not that this came as a surprise – and that's when she told him to open his eyes.

So he did, and he found the formerly starkly lit room bathed in a pleasant yellow glow. The dominant colours were white, a sunny yellow, and grass green, he noticed. As if she had tried to recreate a sunny day in the countryside of Earth. The crib in the corner was adorned with the same sunny yellow, and a mobile with brightly coloured butterflies gently hovered above it. The oversized teddy bear, the lifesize plush cat and the small rubber bunny looked curiously at home on the grass green sofa. Pictures of sweet little animals and a quiet lake scene adorned the walls, and the closet was absolutely packed with baby-clothes in all the colours of the rainbow (except pink).

"Well? Do you like it?"

Data nodded. "I find the result of your efforts to be aesthetically pleasing. Very much so, I may say."

She beamed at him. "In other words: you like it."

"Yes. I believe that expression would be justified." He picked up the rubber rabbit. "But please explain what is the purpose of these fake animals? And of this specimen in particular. It does not even sport fur, like the real oryctolagus cuniculus."

Tasha squeezed the little thing, and Data nearly jumped at the squeaky scream it gave. "Is it supposed to scare her?"

Tasha snickered. "No, it's just a toy. And since we don't have any animals on the ship, I thought she could get acquainted with them through these."

Data gave the bunny a doubtful glance. "Will she not grow up to assume that rabbits are yellow and bald? And make a horrible squeaking sound?"

Tasha rolled her eyes. "Does everything have to be so bloody realistic? I just wanted her to have something smaller – something she could hold herself. I could have gotten her a plush tribble of course, but I liked this one better. He looks very friendly. And inquisitive. Almost as if he's really got character. And besides, I've heard stories of children who grew so fond of the stuffed animal they had as a baby, that they insisted on having a real live one of that species once they got a bit older. Now would you rather have a tribble or a rabbit for a pet?"

"Rabbits are notorious for their rate of propagation as well," Data pointed out.

Tasha's commbadge chirped. _"Dr. Crusher to Lieutenant Yar."_

"Not half as bad as tribbles. Rabbits at least need a mate to multiply themselves," Tasha countered before acknowledging the doctor's page.

"_Tasha, any chance of you coming down to sickbay for your check-up? I was expecting to see you here nearly ten minutes ago."_

"Oh! Sorry doc, I forgot. I'm on my way. Yar out." But first she turned back to Data. "But you really like it? The room, I mean?"

"Yes, I do. As I recall, I already told you so. Although..." Another worried glance at the scorned bunny. "I think I need to contemplate the practical purpose of this particular toy a little more in-depth."

She smiled. "You do that." She took the little bunny from him and put it back with the others on the sofa. "We'll just wait and see how _she_ likes it. And that's what matters most." And with that, she walked out of the cabin to go and report to sickbay.

As she walked towards the nearest turbolift, she pressed her hands against her lower back to relieve the constant strain there for a moment. She glanced down at her belly, and suddenly she realized what she had indeed noticed, but not consciously registered while she had busied herself with the nursery: her baby-belly had grown quite a bit these past weeks, and little Myrna seemed to have gained considerable weight as well. She was lying uncomfortably heavy inside her, and had grown so big that she was pushing up against her mother's lungs now, too.

Tasha stepped into the turbolift, and as it hummed down to its destination, she let her hands trace the bulk of her belly. And she sighed. There really was no denying it anymore: she was really _very_ pregnant now.

Well, there was a positive side to it: at least the kid had had to cut back severely on her acrobatics.

She braced herself for the uncomfortable sensation of the baby suddenly pressing down in her even heavier as the lift braked to a halt. And a moment later she walked into Dr. Crusher's little office. "Sorry, doc. I forgot."

"Oh, it's okay. As long as you don't make a habit of it." Dr. Crusher guided her to the examination table, and Tasha sat down on it.

"Any problems lately?" the doctor asked as she ran the little tricorder scanner over Tasha's round belly.

"Not really." Tasha thought for a moment. She had been so engrossed in her nursery project that she had ignored practically everything else. After all, back on Turkana IV, ignoring aches and pains could mean the difference between making your escape and getting raped, and it was still a bit of a second nature to her to unconsciously refuse to acknowledge minor aches and discomforts. "I have to go to the bathroom quite a lot," she admitted. "It seems like she's lying right on my bladder. And my back is acting up a bit. She's getting heavy. And big."

"Forty-six centimeters, approximately 2,300 grams," Dr. Crusher read from her tricorder. She smiled. "I know it sounds pretty good already, but believe me: if she'd be born now, she'd be skin over bones. Better let her gain another kilo."

Tasha groaned. "Another _kilo_?"

"Well, no one ever said the last few weeks of pregnancy are easy."

Tasha grimaced. "I guess not."

"So where does it hurt – here?" Dr. Crusher was spot on in placing her hands over the most overtaxed muscles in her back.

"Yes. How could you tell without using the tricorder?"

Dr. Crusher snickered. "There is such a thing as experience, you know." She used some massage on the strained muscles, and they seemed to relax a little under the firm touch of the doctor's hands. "Try and avoid just standing around, that puts a lot of extra strain on them," she advised. "Better sit down, or move around. And generally, I'd..."

Suddenly Tasha nearly fell off the table as she made a poorly controlled turn to face the doctor. "Did you say a few... _weeks_?"


	15. Terrified of what once happened

"Did you say a few... _weeks_?"

Dr. Crusher blinked. "Well, yes. You're exactly eight months pregnant today. Thirty-six weeks. And most children are born between the 38th and 42nd week of pregnancy, remember?"

Tasha stared at her in bewilderment. "Thirty-six... thirty-eight... that's _two weeks_ from now!" she squeaked.

"Yes." Dr. Crusher took Tasha's hands in hers. She was absolutely positive they had discussed this little fact more than once over the past couple of months, but apparently it hadn't sunk in. Or Tasha had somehow failed to make the connection between her own advancing pregnancy and the dry facts.

"But... doc! I'm not... So soon? ... I don't know... how... I can't... I'm scared! I... I can't! I don't want to die! I'm...!"

Dr. Crusher gently squeezed her hands. "Tasha, try and concentrate. Fight the panic. You're not going to die. I know that the idea of giving birth is scary, but you can do it." She took Tasha's chin and forced her to look her in the eye. It was sufficient for Tasha to be able to suppress the looming panic attack and to focus on what the doctor was saying to her.

"Now remember how I explained the whole process to you? About what'll be happening in your body?" She waited for a reaction, but got none. "I'll be happy to go through it again, if you like," she ventured.

But a still trembling Tasha shook her head. "No need. I remember."

"Good. And you also remember what I told you about what'll be expected of you? And about how your body will practically be driving you to do what you need to do?"

A bleak nod.

"Good. Then at least on a conscious level you _know_ that it's going to work. And I'll be with you every step of the way. And if a problem _should_ arise, then we have all the necessary facilities to help her into the world, right here in the room. And if it should come to the worst..." She paused.

"Then you can yank her out of me in less than a minute," a pale Tasha completed obediently.

"Exactly. I believe my caesarean record stands at thirty-eight seconds."

Tasha took a shaky breath. "It's just that... suddenly it's so close. I've been so busy lately that I didn't realize... And I just..." She gulped. "I can't stop thinking about... you know... what I told you."

"That other time?" Dr. Crusher asked quietly.

Tasha nodded. "It hurt _so_ much, doc," she quivered. "Even after only... what, three months? Four? Five maybe? And the baby is _so_ much bigger now..."

A sad smile. "Yes. But Tasha, don't forget that there's a world of difference between then and now. You're a strong and healthy woman now. Not a frightened young teenager living in the gutter."

Tasha shuddered. _She was there again, being abused by that particularly brutal rapegang, causing the sudden violent cramps in her belly. How in the end another gang had shown up and challenged them to one of their gangfights, inadvertently providing her with a chance to get away from them in the disused sewerage system under the street level. How she had kept moving, even as the horrible pains got worse and worse, scared to death as she was that they'd come after her. And take her again while she was in too much pain to be able to even try and resist. How she had been crawling on hands and knees through the filth and the stench and the darkness of the dank labyrinth, further and further, until the cramps had finally gotten so bad that all she could do was roll herself into a ball and dig her teeth into her lower lip to keep her from screaming because that would surely attract the gangs' attention. How she had realized that perhaps it was the baby coming out – she knew that her previous encounter with a rapegang a few months back had left her with child. And she had witnessed other women giving birth a few times; it was a bit like this. Horrible pain. And agony. Occasionally ending in death. But then it couldn't be. It wasn't time yet: her belly was still pretty flat, nothing like the huge baby-bellies she had seen on the others. But what else could it be? Was she going to die here, in agony, all alone? And that's when she had suddenly been deluged by an overwhelming urge to push something out of her body – and given into it as a chance of perhaps easing the terrible cramps. And how under agonizing pain she had pushed out a tiny little baby boy, covered in blood. Dead. _

"Tasha. Tasha!" Dr. Crusher could have kicked herself. _My goodness, why did I have to bring that up?_

Bewildered, Tasha looked up. What? Where? Her eyes were wide with fear; her breathing came in fits and starts.

But it was only the friendly, worried Beverly Crusher looking down at her, searching her face.

Tasha screwed her eyes shut. She was positively shaking, Dr. Crusher saw. She reached for her hypospray and injected Tasha with a mild tranquillizer. And within a minute, her breathing and her heart rate calmed down, and she stopped trembling. And lost the battle with her tears.

Dr. Crusher placed her hand over Tasha's again. "I'm sorry I brought it up. I didn't mean to upset you," she spoke quietly. "But perhaps you should tell me some more about what happened back then. I promise it'll stay off the record. But then at least we can battle those demons of yours together."

Tasha just shook her head, and the doctor let out an inaudible sigh. If only she had but a hint of Deanna's empathic abilities! But she couldn't very well ask Deanna for help. The worst thing she could do now was to betray Tasha's hesitant confidence...

"It's okay," she said, still speaking softly. "You don't have to tell me. But that means that all I can say is that you're going to have to try and put the past behind you. At least for now. You've got a new baby to focus on. And this time everything will turn out just fine: you're a grown woman now, strong and healthy. You're safe here, you'll get all the assistance you need... And this time you are well aware of what's going on in your body, so it won't be half as frightening as it was back then. And I promise you: you'll be fine. And the baby will be fine, too."

Tasha made a feeble attempt to brush away her tears. All of a sudden she felt totally drained. She rested her head on her arms – she could just fall asleep here and now...

From somewhere, far away, she heard Dr. Crusher say, "You look like you could do with a good cup of tea." But the mere sensation of the doctor letting go of her hand and walking away from her made her veer up in alarm. "No! Please don't leave me!"

Her startled cry stopped the doctor in her tracks. "I'm not leaving you. I'm just going across the room to get you a cup of tea."

She returned indeed with the tea, and told Tasha to drink it while it was still hot. Normally, Tasha wasn't much of a tea person, but feeling as weak as she did now, the thought of a hot cup of tea was actually very appealing.

Dr. Crusher watched her sip up the tea in silence. "Feeling better?" she inquired when it was finished.

Tasha nodded.

"Good. Now I want you to go back to your cabin and go straight to bed. That baby won't be coming just yet, so we can talk again in the morning. What you need right now is a good night's sleep."

But Tasha whimpered uncharacteristically. "Don't leave me alone... Please!"

"Would you rather stay in sickbay tonight?"

"No. I just..." Tasha screwed her eyes shut as painful memories washed over her again. "I just don't want to be alone. _Please_, don't leave me alone! I... I'm just... so..."

"Scared," Dr. Crusher completed quietly when the phrase was left hanging in the air. And Tasha didn't deny it.

Dr. Crusher thought quickly. She couldn't exactly let Tasha sleep over at her place. Wesley was a good kid, and he was certainly wise beyond his years, but it wouldn't do to expose Tasha to Wesley's inquisitive nature while she was in this vulnerable state. "How about staying with Deanna for the night? I'm sure she won't mind."

Tasha shivered. "No."

And Dr. Crusher realized that was indeed not the most tactful suggestion she could have made. She knew better than anyone of Tasha's continuous struggle to keep the worst of her childhood traumas hidden from every counselor in the Federation. And in the state she was in now, it was doubtful if she'd be able to keep up those shields around a trained empath like Deanna. No, what she needed was someone who...

"What about Mr. Data? I don't know if he's off duty tonight, but that can be arranged if necessary."

A slow breath. "Data. Yes. Safe..."

Exactly: someone who made her feel safe.

"Okay." The doctor touched her commbadge. "Dr. Crusher to Mr. Data."

"_Data here,"_ came the immediate answer.

"Mr. Data, are you free?"

"_Yes, doctor."_

"Good. Can you meet me in five minutes outside Tasha's quarters?"

"_Of course I can, doctor. But I thought Lt. Yar was with you. Is something the matter with her?"_

"Nothing major, don't worry. I'll fill you in when we get there. Crusher out."

They met Data outside her quarters, and Dr. Crusher ushered the two of them inside.

"Tasha, you look uncharacteristically pale," Data observed. "Are you not well?"

"Tasha, why don't you get ready for bed, while I explain to Mr. Data," the doctor intervened.

Tasha meekly disappeared into the bathroom, and Data turned to Dr. Crusher. "Doctor, what is wrong with her? Is the baby alright?"

"Yes, Data, the baby is alright. And Tasha just had a bit of a shock as she suddenly realized just how close to her time she is."

Data frowned. "Does she have her own time?"

"An expression. Sorry. I meant close to her time of giving birth."

"Ah. Yes. We are only fourteen more earth days from the most likely period for our daughter to be born."

"Exactly. And while we were discussing that, some really bad memories from her childhood came back to her." She hesitated. "Do you know anything about how she grew up?"

"Very little, doctor," Data admitted. "She has mentioned being abandoned at the chronological age of five, and learning how to avoid rapegangs. And she has indicated that she does not think of her childhood as a happy time."

"An understatement, if ever I heard one," Dr. Crusher agreed wryly. "Anyway, those memories brought about a lot of old fears from her past. Right now she's plain frightened, Data. She..." She hesitated again. "Mr. Data, do you know what that is: to be frightened?"

"Yes, doctor. To be frightened: to fear, to be afraid, to be scared, to be timorous, to be terrified. It is a common human reaction to perceived danger."

"Yes, but have you ever experienced fear yourself?"

"Negative, doctor. You know that I am not capable of experiencing emotion. In the case of fear, one could say that is fortunate."

"Or not." Dr. Crusher sighed. "It might be good if you could have some understanding of how she feels."

Data tilted his head. "Perhaps you could explain the essence of feeling fear to me?"

"We can try. Let me think... Data, imagine that you're on some alien planet. You've lost your communicator, and there's no one around to help you. All you know is that this planet is the home of gigantic, bloodthirsty creatures. They can jump at you and tear you to pieces any moment. You can hear them shuffling around in the dark, and they're getting closer and closer..."

"With them being bloodthirsty creatures, they are not likely to be interested in me," Data pointed out. "My body does not contain blood."

"Never mind that. They just want to crush whatever life form they encounter."

Data nodded. "It would certainly be an interesting challenge."

"Yes. But you're suffering from some kind of massive system failure, and although you're conscious, you have no real strength in your body at all. All you can do is hide and hope they won't find you. But you _know_ they're already onto your scent, so it's only a matter of time before they'll drag you out of your hide-out and crush you. And there's absolutely _nothing _you can do to defend yourself." She searched the android's face. It had a pensive expression.

"That would not be a pleasant prospect," Data conceded. "But Lt. Yar is not on some alien planet with bloodthirsty creatures."

Dr. Crusher tried not to roll her eyes. "No. I made up a hypothetical situation to give _you_ an idea of how Tasha is feeling."

"I see. But Tasha is safely on the Enterprise. Then what is it that causes her so much fear?"

"Partly the realization that she'll have to give birth in a few weeks time. That's nothing extraordinary; most pregnant women are scared of giving birth. But there are some events from Tasha's past that she suddenly associated with giving birth. Events that really frightened her at the time. Terrified her. And remembering... or reliving those old fears as she is doing now, she is scared of being alone. She wants someone to be with her tonight, to give her a sense of safety, of protection. And she asked for you."

Data nodded. "Of course I will stay with her if that is what she wishes. I am free till 2400 hours. From that hour on however, I am scheduled for the nightwatch on the bridge."

"Forget the nightwatch. I'll get the Captain to find someone else for that. I need you here." And at his puzzled glance, she corrected, "_Tasha_ needs you here."

He blinked. "Yes, doctor."

"Good. Now I have good hopes that she's going to fall asleep pretty quickly. But if she's not asleep within half an hour, I'd like you to give her an injection with this hypospray. All prepared, ready to go."

"Yes, doctor."

Dr. Crusher walked over to the bathroom cubicle. "Tasha?"

"Almost done," came the subdued reply. And a moment later she appeared. Her face was pale and drawn.

Dr. Crusher gave her an encouraging smile. "Now you get into bed, young lady, and get some sleep. Doctor's orders! Data will stay with you tonight, and I'll drop by again in the morning."

Tasha seemed almost too tired to take it in, so Dr. Crusher guided her over to the bedroom, made her sit down on the bed, took off her shoes and coaxed her to lie down, dressed and all. And as she pulled the covers over her, she whispered, "You're safe here. Everything will be alright. Go to sleep now, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

Data had just sat himself at Tasha's computer to pull up the astrophysics essay he'd been reading when Dr. Crusher had paged him, when he heard Tasha's muffled voice calling for him.

He walked over to the bedroom, and as the door hissed open for him, he asked, "Yes, Tasha?"

"Data, please fetch me that rubber bunny? From the nursery?"

"Of course. It will take me approximately fifteen point eight seconds to go there and back. Will you be alright for that time on your own?"

"Suppose so." Tasha sighed. "I just want that bunny."

So Data went to get the yellow bunny, and watched with puzzled interest how Tasha cuddled it tight into her shoulder. "Why do you want to hold the bunny like that?" he inquired, his interest piqued.

"Don't know," she mumbled. "Just feels good." But through the haze of her exhaustion, she, too, felt a vague wonder about the matter of course in which she positioned the bunny under her chin. Maybe, when she was very young...?

But she was too tired to give it much thought, and her eyes fluttered closed again. Data, too, returned to the computer in the living-room.

For a few minutes, that is.

"Data?"

"Yes, Tasha?"

"Can't you stay in here?"

Data came to stand in the doorway. "Here in the bedroom? Of course I can. If that is what you wish." He came in and stood watching her from the corner.

"No. I mean... in bed with me. I'd like to... to _feel_ that you're here." She was too tired to bother about embarrassing memories of luring Data into her bed. "Lie behind me. And just sort of... hold me. I just want to feel you're there."

Apparently, Data did not think her request at all strange. He sat down at the foot of her bed to take off his shoes, and lay down on his back beside her. "Like this?"

"No, on your side. Your chest against my back."

Data did as instructed.

"Closer."

Tasha sighed with relief at the sensation of support Data's proximity gave to her strained back. Perhaps there was a practical reason to the fact that most humans still preferred to be married – or at least have their partner living with them – before they embarked on having children?

"Is this better?" Data inquired.

"Yes. Or maybe..." She stretched out her hand behind her till she got hold of his wrist. Data let her drape his arm over the curve of her belly, and watched with interest how she positioned her own arm in the crook of his. She fidgeted some more, and when she finally seemed to have found a comfortable position, Data wished her goodnight.

"'Night, Data," she mumbled in reply.

Data checked his internal chronometer. She still had nine minutes and thirty-one point six seconds to fall asleep by herself before he had to give her the hypospray as instructed.

But after only two minutes and forty-nine seconds he already recognized the calm and steady breathing that was so characteristic for humans in that – for them so unexplicably healthy – unconscious state called sleep.

Carefully, mindful not to wake her, he raised himself on an elbow to look down at his sleeping bedmate. Her short hair was already quite tousled, and even in her sleep she pressed the rubber bunny tight into her shoulder. Intriguing how a mere piece of rubber could give her such comfort.

He followed the contours of her face with his eyes. Being a clone of her mother, this was what their daughter would look like. He tried to envision how this face looked as a teenager. As a young girl. As a toddler. As a baby. _His daughter_. And only a few more weeks till he could hold her in his arms. Could there be a more human experience?

Come to think of it, lying in bed at night with the sleeping mother of your child snuggled up to you was probably a very human experience, too.

And as he carefully lay back down to keep watch over Tasha, he smiled.


	16. Waiting for what never happened

The chirp from her commbadge awoke Tasha from her slumber. With her eyes closed, she reached towards the nightstand till she got hold of it. "Yar here."

"Tasha, it's Dr. Crusher." A hesitation. "Are you awake?"

"Sort of." Tasha rolled onto her back and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "Actually, I had asked Data to wake me up before he left. But I must have dozed off again."

"Good. Mind if we have a talk?"

Tasha grinned. "Over the commsystem?"

She heard a chuckle. "Well, actually I'm right outside your cabin. Are you awake enough to invite me in?"

"Sure. But I'm not exactly what you'd call 'presentable' yet."

"No problem. I'm a doctor; I'm used to seeing people in a dishevelled state. So if _you_ don't mind, I certainly won't." And with that, the doorchime sounded, and the doctor entered on Tasha's, "Come."

She walked into the bedroom just as Tasha sat up. "I saw Mr. Data on the bridge, so I knew you'd be on your own by now. How are you feeling?"

"Okay." Tasha watched as she ran the medical scanner over her. "Is the baby alright, too?"

Dr. Crusher smiled. "Physically, you're both doing fine."

"But?" Tasha prompted.

Dr. Crusher looked up. "You know what I mean. Tasha... I really don't want to upset you again, but seeing how you reacted yesterday, I think we need to talk."

Tasha averted her eyes. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I know, and I will respect that. But I've seen enough to know that this trauma is likely to affect you pretty badly once you'll be going into labour. And believe me, you'll have enough on your mind when you're giving birth."

Tasha sighed. "I had already figured that, yes."

"Giving birth is a Herculean task in itself, both physically and mentally," Dr. Crusher continued. "So the last thing you need is to have to battle with ghosts from the past at the side."

Tasha let out a mirthless laugh. "So what are you going to do: drug me senseless?"

"No." Dr. Crusher shook her head. "But I would like you to consider the option of a caesarean section."

Tasha was silent for a moment. "A caesarean section... that's when you get her out in an operation, right?"

"Yes, that's right. It's just as safe as giving birth the natural way. The recuperation time is a little longer, but with the bioregenerator, the difference is barely half a day."

"And then I don't have to go through all those labour pains and stuff?"

"Well, just a few. Nobody knows better than your body when the baby is ready to be born. So we wait until you go into labour, and once that's properly underway, we give you a local anaesthetic and get her out through a shortcut. And you'll be fully conscious – you won't miss her first cry or anything."

Tasha took a slow, deep breath.

"You don't have to decide yet; I'd just like you to think about it," Dr. Crusher emphasized. "The option is there. And under the circumstances, a caesarean is perfectly justifiable."

But Tasha shook her head. "I don't need to think about it. I want the operation. I don't think even _I_ realized just how much I dreaded having to give birth again – until last night. You've really taken a load off my shoulders, doc. Thanks."

"Good." Dr. Crusher smiled. "So now all we have to do is wait for her to get ready to face the world. And I'm giving you one basic rule to live by: if it hurts, _don't do it_. Your body is under enough strain as it is; no need to add to that."

Tasha grimaced. "Yes, doctor."

* * *

But that was easier said than done, Tasha discovered. The baby seemed to get heavier every day. And considering that she was supposed to gain a whole kilo in just a few weeks, the odds were pretty high that it wasn't just her imagination.

And if the ever growing weight and size of her belly weren't enough, the baby's head had slowly slid down into her pelvis as well. Which gave Tasha indeed more room to breathe, but it did very little to make it easier for her to get comfortable.

"I can't do _anything_ anymore," she complained to Data one evening as she was desperately trying to find a comfortable position on the green couch. "I can't sit, I can't stand, I can't walk... I can't lie down, I can't sleep... No matter what I try, she's always terribly in the way. And there's always _some_ muscles heavily protesting."

From the computer in the other room, Data answered unperturbed, "According to the available medical texts on human pregnancies, that is not exceptional at this stage."

Tasha scowled. "If you had to carry this kid in your belly for twenty-four hours – one day only! – then you'd sing a different tune," she retorted in a decisively menacing tone.

To which Data was blissfully oblivious. "That would be a most intriguing experiment, yes. Unfortunately, my body is not able to provide the delicate life support required to sustain an unborn child."

"We could make something and tie it onto your belly," Tasha proposed in a sudden vindictive mood. "A pillow or two, filled with real heavy and bulky stuff."

"Would that resemble being pregnant?" Data asked.

"You bet! You'd have the best experience of your life: a continuous backache, can't get comfortable in any position, you can't sleep..."

"I do not sleep," Data reminded her as reasonable as ever. "And my muscles cannot ache. Nor do I perceive discomf..."

A bright coloured baby-toy missed his head by a mere inch and crashed against the far wall.

He looked back at Tasha with an almost perplexed expression. "What did you...?" he began, but Tasha's angry screams drowned out his every word.

"_Shut up_! Just _shut up_, will you? !"

Totally puzzled, Data turned back to his computer without a word, while replaying the situation in his positronic brain in order to determine what he had said or done wrong to upset her so badly that she had been compelled to attack him.

The search came up with nothing.

Which was only following the frequently recurring pattern he had begun to distinguish over the past five days: he was talking with Tasha, Tasha got angry with him, and he was invariably unable to determine what he had said or done wrong. Yet he never got the chance to inquire with her as to what exactly disturbed her so much in his behaviour, for the equally invariable next step was...

Exactly. She was crying.

And if there was one thing Data had learned over the past few days, it was how to deal with a crying Tasha.

So he sat down next to her, placed his arms around her upper body, and drew her close to him. Just as she had taught him. He was not sure what she found so palatable about it, but it seemed a reasonable hypothesis to assume that his physical proximity gave her a sense of security and support. Much like that night a few weeks ago, when she had asked him to come and lie down in bed with her and hold her.

"I'm just so tired, Data," Tasha cried. "I'm just a huge breeding machine. I want to have my body to myself again. And sleep for three days in a row. And I'm sick and tired of hanging around, just waiting for it to happen."

That was old news. They were eight days into the four week period during which their little Myrna was expected to be born. And Tasha's patience – never her forte – had already been depleted after the third day. As a matter of fact, he regarded the probability of a connection between her recent unexplicable outbursts and her eagerness to conclude this pregnancy fairly high.

"Was there still no change in the level of that special hormone this morning?" he inquired.

"Not a twitch," Tasha sobbed. Every day she reported to sickbay to have the level of a certain labour inducing hormone checked. Once the level of that particular hormone went up, it would all be a matter of days. Two, three at the most. But so far there had been no change whatsoever.

"What if she _never_ comes out?" Tasha bawled.

"I do not think Dr. Crusher will allow that to happen," Data assured her. "Surely you are nearing the point where it is advantageous for both of you that she exits your body."

"But how much longer?" Tasha cried.

"At most 19.21 earth days."

Tasha groaned. "That's nineteen more sleepless earth _nights_, too."

"Affirmative. Unless of course she is born before that," Data pointed out.

But Tasha didn't listen. "Data, can't you come and stay the night with me again? You know, just lie behind me, and hold me? And talk with me when I can't sleep?"

Data's eyes searched her tear stained face. "Have you had any more nightmares?"

She nodded. "A few. But mostly just very weird dreams. Disturbing." She blushed a fiery red as she recalled last night's utterly embarrassing erotic idiocy... "I think I would... appreciate having someone around when I wake up from those." Not that she was _ever_ going to share those dreams with anyone, but...

Data nodded. "I will spend the night with you whenever my duties permit me to," he promised.

"Thank you, Data." She snuggled up to him even closer for a moment, and then untangled herself from him. "And sorry I yelled at you."

* * *

Deanna Troi nearly ran into Data as he stepped out into the corridor the next morning. "Good morning, Mr. Data," she smiled. And smiled even wider as she realized whose cabin he had emerged from – at 7.45 in the morning.

"Good morning, Counselor," he greeted her in return, and fell into step beside her as they both walked towards the turbolift.

"Counselor, may I ask you something?"

"Of course you may, Mr. Data."

"It is about Lt. Yar. I am exceedingly puzzled by her behaviour. For the past days, I apparently upset her a great deal, to the point that she throws things at me with such force that it is evident that it is her intention to damage me. Yet my analysis of my speech and behaviour has not been able to detect what I say or do wrong that could upset her to such a degree. Could you perhaps tell me where I am at fault, so that I may avoid upsetting her in the future?"

Deanna smiled at his earnest request. "I don't think you're all that much at fault, Mr. Data." They entered the turbolift and ordered it to the bridge. "But with the baby due any day now, it's quite natural for Tasha to be nervous. And her being a woman of action, who is used to taking matters in her own hands, I can imagine it must be very frustrating for her, too, to just have to sit around and wait for the baby to come."

Data nodded. "Yes, she has mentioned that very often lately."

"And for her, you're the most logical person on whom she can take out her frustration. After all, clinically speaking you're the one who got her into this. If you hadn't gotten her pregnant, she wouldn't have to deal with that heavy uncomfortable baby in her belly twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

"I see. Perhaps it would be advisable for me then to stay away from her until the baby is born. In order not to upset her anymore." He frowned. "But she does seek my company a great deal. Why would she do that, when I upset her so?"

Deanna smiled. "Because she needs you, Data. Don't stay away from her. She needs your strength, your reassurance, your calmness – even if her behaviour towards you suggests exactly the opposite. Some psychologists think it's the mother's way of testing how far the father-to-be will go to accommodate her and the coming child."

"Ah." The doors of the turbolift hissed open and they stepped out on the bridge. "So her behaviour is considered normal for this stage of pregnancy."

"Yes. Perfectly normal," Deanna replied as they walked down the ramp together. "Just be patient with her. Do whatever she asks you to. Try to keep her happy – no matter how mad she gets with you. It's really perfectly normal."

Riker in the Captain's chair grinned. "Trying to understand a pregnant woman, Data?"

"Yes, sir." Data sat down at his station. "Do you happen to have any helpful insights in the matter, Commander?"

An even broader grin. "Only one: don't even bother, my friend. No man has ever understood a pregnant woman."

And Deanna chuckled. "Oh yes, you've got _so_ much experience with pregnant women! Haven't you, Will?"

"Lots," Riker agreed in jest.

Data's interest was piqued. "In that case, Commander, could you please explain to me why Tasha threw..."

But Riker held up his hands. "Just kidding, Data. I'm sure you've got more experience with pregnant women by now than I do."

* * *

"Come!" Picard called as the doorchime sounded.

Beverly Crusher took a good breath, and entered the ready room.

"Dr. Crusher?" Picard greeted her from behind his desk. He gestured to the opposite chair, and slightly nervous, Beverly sat down.

"I've decided to accept the position at Starfleet Medical, Jean-Luc."

Picard leaned back in his chair. "I see." A momentary silence. "Well, I'm happy for you, Beverly. I really am. It's a great promotion. And a deserved one. But I do regret losing my Chief Medical Officer."

She nodded. "I'm sorry to leave the Enterprise, too. But considering all the factors, I think it's for the best."

He raised his eyebrows. "Wesley?"

"I haven't told him yet. He knows about the offer, but..."

"I mean, are you doing this for Wesley?"

She sighed. "Partly, yes. He'll be going to the Academy soon. But he's still so young, Jean-Luc, and I don't want to be on the other side of the galaxy when..." Her voice trailed off as she noticed Picard's gently amused expression. "You think I'm overprotective, don't you."

Picard smiled. "A little, yes. Beverly, the boy is sixteen years old. You're going to have to let him go. And soon."

"I know." She sighed. "Believe me, Jean-Luc, I know. But he's all I've got. I don't want to be half a galaxy away when he'll be standing on his very own feet for the first time."

Picard's smile broadened. "I'm sure he will do just fine. You have raised him to be a very fine young man."

She returned the smile. "Well, after all he is the son of his father."

Picard gave an earnest nod. "And of his mother."

They smiled in unison at that, aware of what neither of them felt like saying out loud: that Jack Crusher would have been proud of his son.

"Anyway," Dr. Crusher continued, "I would very much appreciate it if you could keep the lid on the news of my leaving. At least for now. I've got a few patients whom I'm afraid would be very upset by such news. I'd rather not risk that at the moment."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "Yes, how is Natasha?"

She chuckled. "Were my words that transparent? Tasha... Well, she's tired, nervous, touchy, of unstable temper, eager to get it all over with..." She smiled. "The usual in such cases. But she's doing fine."

"It won't be long now, am I correct?"

"Any day now. She'll be exactly forty weeks tomorrow."

"That will make fourteen children on the Enterprise under the age of three." Picard shook his head. "I keep wondering when – or rather: _if _my grandfather instinct will ever kick in."

* * *

December 8th.

The magical date had flashed with red neon letters in Tasha's brain ever since the strike of midnight.

December 8th. The date of Myrna's officially calculated E.T.A. Of course Data had shown her to the zillionth decimal that the probability of Myrna being born on this very date was fairly small. Still, it did nothing to alter Tasha's perception. No matter how for the past fortnight she'd been hoping, praying, begging, urging, pleading with the baby to come out _right now_, December 8th was still D-day.

For the hundredth time at least she cursed the fact that Data was on nightwatch this night of all nights. For she was tense. And nervous. She sure would have welcomed his company and conversation to help her get through this long night.

Instead, it was just her, her oversized baby-belly, and a dozen or so pillows that she kept moving around to try and find a somewhat comfortable position. But even when she did, it never lasted long. There was always some muscle or flattened organ or baby-limb causing aches and pains. Which in turn invariably made her hold her breath. Was this it? A contraction? The baby finally coming?

Not that it was very likely. As of yesterday morning, there was still no change in the level of that blasted hormone. Apparently, Myrna found her warm little nest quite cosy, and had no intention of leaving it yet.

But she was _so_ fed up with it. All she wanted now was for this blasted baby to come out. Preferably ASAP, and rather yesterday than today.

The baby really was strong enough now – around 3,400 grams, Dr. Crusher had announced two days ago, but it felt like twenty kilos at the very least. If she'd grow any bigger, Tasha was sure her belly would simply burst open. Already you could clearly see – and feel – the bumps of her pointy elbows through the thin layer of skin and muscle tissue – all that separated their Myrna from the outside world. Surely the kid must realize, too, that there was no room for her to grow any further in there!

Yet her body stubbornly refused to raise the production of that stupid hormone.

But perhaps today? If the baby wouldn't be _born_ today, then perhaps at least that hormone level could go up? Even the tiniest little bit? Just so she'd know that the end was in sight?

Carefully, she rolled onto her back. It was the only position that allowed the poor overstrained muscles of her back to relax a little. Unfortunately, it also meant that Myrna completely flattened all her mother's intestines, including...

With a groan she struggled to get up and make it to the bathroom in time. How was a girl ever going to get some sleep this way?

When she came back to bed a few minutes later, she realized that little Myrna had shifted her position. Oh so slightly, but it took quite some trial and error before Tasha found a new position that was bearable. At least for a while.

She reached out and found her commbadge on the nightstand beside the bed. "Tasha to Data."

"_Data here."_

"Data, when are you coming to bed?"

"_My watch ends at 0600 hours."_

She glanced at the chronometer. And groaned loudly. It was barely half past two in the morning.

"_Tasha?"_ came Data's slightly worried voice over the comm.

"Nothing. Yar out." She slung the commbadge back on the nightstand in frustration. And overshot it by at least a meter. Oh well, she'd worry about finding it tomorrow. Or today. Or whatever.

She sighed, and shifted slightly further onto her back. But that meant the pillow there became totally uncomfortable. And adjusting that one meant that the one under her heavy belly suddenly provided insufficient support. And...

Suddenly she chuckled. For Data of course didn't mind her moving around all the time – she had trained him well by now in helping her to get comfortable, and besides, he didn't sleep anyway. But would a real human partner be equally patient and understanding if his hyperpregnant partner kept moving around all night long?

She doubted it. And tried to envision it to pass the time. With Riker and Deanna for example. As good an example as any, since it was a public secret on board that they had been lovers in the past. Actually, most people (herself included) thought they'd still make a perfect couple.

So she brought an image of Deanna to her mind, very pregnant and unable to get comfortable in bed.

And Will? She could imagine him being very loving and helpful to begin with. A few hours. A few nights perhaps. But then he'd probably start complaining about his own sleep deprivation, and simply turn his back to her. Maybe even pretend to sleep.

No. For that matter it really wasn't so bad to have Data. Sure, he drove her crazy sometimes, but at least he was always willing to help. Unassuming, undemanding, infinitely patient, always putting her wishes before his own... The guy was almost too good to be true. Definitely too good to be human.

Her thoughts went back to that night a few weeks ago. The first time he had stayed the night with her. How she'd had to teach him how to hold her. And how oddly comfortable it was to lie against his chest, with his strong arms around her. The unfamiliar sense of security it had given her to physically feel that someone else was watching her back for her.

She remembered how she had awoken several times that night to her old, but nonetheless terrifying nightmares. And how his mere presence, the feel of his arms around her were sufficient for her to realize that she was safe. That any man – any gang who tried to get their hands on her would have to get past Data first. And Data was stronger than ten men put together. He would never allow anyone to touch her.

She sighed, and stretched her right leg to – hopefully – nip a beginning cramp in her calf in the bud. That, too, was a lot easier to take care of when Data was at hand. Clearly he had made himself pretty much indispensable lately.

Suddenly she wondered how things would be between them once Myrna was born. There would be no reason for him to come and stay the night with her anymore. Instead, they had agreed that he would be taking care of Myrna most nights, so that she – Tasha – could sleep.

She knew he had already requested and been granted a more standard duty schedule for when Myrna was born. Which she thought he thoroughly deserved; the poor guy worked twice as much as anyone else on the ship. Including three nightshifts a week.

Data had once told her that he had offered the Captain to take all the nightshifts as commander on the bridge. Perfectly reasonable from his point of view, since he didn't sleep anyway. But she was ever so grateful that the Captain had graciously refused the offer, saying that it wouldn't hurt the others to do their share, and that he – Data – should instead take the opportunity to pursue his own interests.

She couldn't help a smile. Data's interests were infinite. Literally _everything_ held his interest. He was just so sweet. The sweetest guy she'd ever met. And the only man she had ever fully trusted. For even around her closest colleagues – the Captain, Riker, Geordi, O'Brien, her subordinates, her friend Worf, yes, even young Wesley – she was always on her guard, ready to counter any pass they might make on her.

But not Data. With Data she felt completely at ease. Safe.

And it was a rather startling discovery to realize that she was going to miss having him in her bed at night...

* * *

.

_Author's Note: __Better keep an eye out the coming days, ladies and gentlemen: I'm suffering from a severe case of a disease we're all familiar with: writing feber! Two more chapters are ready to be typed up. And the one about Myrna being born will be up on the site on her birthday!_ :-)


	17. And waiting

The magical December 8th passed as uneventful as the fourteen previous days of waiting, and by the time the ship's inner lights were dimmed for the night, Tasha was positively ready to explode.

Fortunately for her – and unfortunately for him – Data was off duty that night. She had summoned him at her side as soon as he got off duty, but whatever he did, whatever he said, he could do no good in her eyes. So she snapped at him at every turn, bawled him out, yelled at him, ranted, raged at him... until in the end he quietly observed that the only logical thing for him to do was to leave her alone for now, since evidently all he did tonight was upsetting her.

"Don't you dare!" she growled.

So he stayed, totally at a loss as to why she insisted on his company when apparently he irritated her so much, but coming to the conclusion that it would be better not to ask.

Tasha's mood didn't change once they finally retired to the bedroom, and Data silently hoped she would fall asleep pretty soon. And preferably sleep through the entire night for a change. No one had ever treated him like this before, and even though it was true that he had no feelings that could be insulted, he was quickly discovering that he did not particularly care for the experience of being yelled at non-stop for no apparent reason.

His wish did not come true. After no more than ten minutes in bed (with nothing but snapping and yelling at his address), Tasha announced that she wanted to go to the holodeck. _Now_. And she already threw back the covers.

They got more or less dressed – Data only needed to put on his shoes – and off they went in search of an unoccupied holodeck.

The first three they passed were taken, even at this late hour. But holodeck 4 was free.

"Computer," Tasha ordered. "I want a program with a lot of crockery. And no people."

"_Working,"_ the computer replied.

And Data raised his eyebrows. "What do you want to do with a lot of crockery?"

"Trash it."

The computer forestalled a further inquiry into the purpose of crockery trashing. _"Program complete. You may enter when ready."_

Tasha stepped up to the door, and it opened up to a sunny banquet hall, with three long tables, all set to the overflow with sparkling glass- and chinaware.

"Good," was all Tasha said. She took a small plate from the corner of the first table, and hurled it with all her might at the nearest wall, where it shattered into a thousand pieces before dropping to the marble floor.

Another plate followed. And another. A wineglass. A finger bowl. A cup. A saucer. A side plate. Another plate. Another glass.

"Tasha," Data ventured. "What is the purp..." But he had to duck quickly to avoid the flying saucer that was aimed right at his head. It shattered against the holographic wooden door that masked the holodeck exit.

He tried again. "Would you perhaps..." A wineglass came flying straight at him, and he quickly stepped aside.

"Tasha, I..." He only just managed to fend off the heavy decanter that was on an intercept course with his head; it shattered on the floor beside him.

He stared at the million glass splinters at his feet. And back at Tasha, who was still furiously hurling the elegant crockery at the wall. The floor near the wall was covered with glittering splinters.

And he decided that his chances of surviving this holodeck visit undamaged would significantly improve if he would just keep his mouth shut and did not interfere with whatever it was that she was doing. And after all, the crockery was replaceable: it was only holographic...

So he retreated to the door, and watched Tasha clearing off one place setting after the other. Out of sheer habit, he kept count of the number of crashes. Halfway through the middle table she changed her tactics and began to simply crash the stuff on the floor, and it wasn't until she was nearly through with the third and last table that she finally sank down in one of the plush chairs and buried her head in her hands.

After she'd sat there motionless for a full minute, Data decided it seemed safe to – cautiously – approach her. "Tasha?" he ventured as he was but two feet from her.

She looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. "Data!" She grabbed hold of his wrists. "Data, _please_ wake me up and tell me that it was all a bad dream? That I'm not _really_ pregnant?"

Data blinked. He was more than willing to do whatever Tasha asked him to, but... "That would be a lie."

Tasha positively howled. "But I don't _want_ to be pregnant anymore! And I don't _want_ a baby!" With one sweep of her arm she sent the next place setting crashing to the floor – Data jumped back only just in time – and she burst out in tears.

At last: behaviour he was familiar with.

So he sat down on the chair next to her, placed his arms around her upper body and gently pulled her against his chest as she had taught him.

"I'm _so_ tired of this," Tasha cried. "_Everybody_ keeps telling me that it won't be long now. If anybody is going to say that again I'll _kill _them! Why doesn't this stupid baby come out? I went down to sickbay _four times_ today to check on that stupid hormone. And _still_ nothing!"

Data frowned. "I was not aware that a rise in the hormone's level could be achieved by checking it more frequently?"

She shoved him away in utter frustration. "Oh, get lost, you fool." She placed her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands again. For if this really wasn't some horrible nightmare – and she knew Data was incapable of lying – then there was nothing she could do except resigning herself to the fact that she was indeed pregnant. Very pregnant. _Terribly_ pregnant. Going to have a baby any day now.

When she looked up, Data was gone.

* * *

He wasn't in her quarters. He wasn't in his own quarters either.

"Computer, where is Commander Data?"

"_Lieutenant Commander Data is on deck 13, corridor section C."_

"The shuttlebays? What the heck is he doing _there_?" Tasha muttered.

"_That is not a valid question,"_ the computer chided.

"I wasn't talking to you," she gave back. She activated her commbadge. "Yar to Data. Come in, please."

"_Data here."_

"Data, what are you doing on the shuttlebay deck?"

"_I am getting lost."_

"What!" Tasha felt her heart jump to her throat. Was he going to...!

"_You told me to get lost,"_ she heard his calm and utterly reasonable voice explain. _"So I switched off my directional sensors and started wandering about the Enterprise."_

"Data, I didn't mean it like _that_! That you really should get lost – literally! You better switch on that directional sensor again and get back here."

"_I do not know where it is."_

"Where what is? Your directional sensor?"

"_Affirmative. I do not know where anything is. I do not know where I am."_

Tasha sighed. "Okay, Data, you better stay right where you are. Don't take another step. I'll get help." And as an afterthought she added: "And don't you dare go into the shuttlebay!"

"_Where is the shuttlebay?"_

"Never mind. Just don't take another step."

"_Understood."_

"Yar to La Forge."

No reaction.

"Yar to La Forge. Geordi! It's urgent!"

A muffled, _"La Forge here."_

"Geordi, Data is lost, and he can't find his directional sensor. Can you fix him?"

There was an unintelligible splutter in reply_. "Tasha? What do you mean, Data got lost?"_

She explained the problem, and Geordi promised to go and fix his friend right away.

When they both showed up at her door some twenty minutes later, Tasha felt rather sheepish. "Sorry, Geordi. I suppose it was my fault."

He smirked. "You bet it was. You know as well as I do that our friend here has a tendency of taking things literally. But tomorrow I'm going to alter Data's programming in such a way that he won't be able to switch off his directional sensors anymore. Safety first!"

* * *

Another entire, endless week of waiting passed before Dr. Crusher _finally_ announced one afternoon that the level of the labour inducing hormone in Tasha's body was beginning to rise. At last...

Tasha suddenly felt the tears streaming down her cheeks upon hearing the news. "Oh doc..."

And Dr. Crusher hugged her. "The end is in sight now. At last, eh? Now it's just a matter of a few days till it's all over."

"So when will it be now? Tomorrow?" Tasha untangled herself from the doctor and brushed at her tears.

Dr. Crusher shook her head. "Not likely; that's too soon. Count on maybe the day after tomorrow, but most likely the day after that."

Tasha stretched her aching back. "So the 17th or the 18th." She rubbed at her lower back. "Three more days at most. I think I can live with that. At least now that I've got a definite date to go by."

The 16th passed without any major events, as the doctor had predicted. Tasha went down to sickbay eight times, just to be able to hear that the hormone level had gone up _again_ since last time.

The 17th she got restless. Apart from checking in at sickbay about every hour – Dr. Crusher's smile got wider with every next time she came in – she spent most of the day in what very soon now would be their daughter's room, rearranging the baby clothes, fingering the empty crib, hugging the bunny and the plush cat to her chest, and desperately trying (and failing) to get comfortable on the couch.

She didn't really need company that day. Data was on duty for most of the day, but several weeks ago already he had ordered the computer to grant her permanent access to his quarters. That would make things a little easier once Myrna was born.

Once she was born... Around midday, Dr. Crusher had predicted that she was likely to go into labour during the latter half of the following day. Another twenty-four to thirty-six hours... How were they ever going to pass?

When her very last morning as mother-to-be dawned, she had found the answer: she was going to put up proper Christmas decorations in the nursery, in Data's quarters, and in her own. Maybe _she_ had missed out on the warmth of a family Christmas as a child, but dammit, she was going to see to it that her daughter would not have to miss out on that. And considering that – when she'd be born today – they wouldn't get out of sickbay until it was almost Christmas, she'd better make sure it was all fixed beforehand.

So she got dressed, barely allowed herself to grab a bite to eat, and went down to the ship's store and ordered three 7 foot Christmas trees (the real ones, that smelled like resin) and boxes full of tree ornaments, garlands, tree lights, wax candles, three Nativity scenes, angels, stars, snowmen, Santas, twinkle lights, Christmas stockings, Santa hats, snowspray, Christmas wrapping paper, ribbons and three presents for each of them. Everything was beamed over to their respective quarters, and Tasha was so busy decorating the rest of the day that she totally forgot to go down to sickbay to check on the all important hormone.

So by three o'clock, Dr. Crusher decided to make a house call to see what she was up to. And found Tasha in Data's quarters, precariously balanced on a chair, trying to place a golden angel on top of the fully trimmed Christmas tree in the corner. And a slightly bewildered looking Data, working at a computer that was practically hidden under the Christmas decorations.

She saw how Data glanced at Tasha, and then back at her. "I have regularly offered my assistance, doctor, but she either insists that I lack the aesthetical program for tasteful Christmas decorations, or she ignores me completely," he whispered. It sounded almost as an apology.

She smiled a little. After all, she was a mother, too, and she vividly remembered Jack's appalled expression when he had come home one night to find his nearly 42 weeks pregnant wife on top of a rather rickety ladder, obsessively painting every ceiling in the house. Offers to do it for her, heartfelt pleas to leave it until after the baby was born all fell on deaf ears; those ceilings had to be nice and yellow before the baby arrived, and nobody could do that better than his mother. But once the painting was done, she hadn't even had time to completely finish putting the furniture back in place before she had gone into labour with Wesley.

"Don't worry, Mr. Data," she reassured him quietly. "It's just her nesting instinct; yet another indication that it really won't be long now. Now why don't you let her handle this Christmas mess by herself, and you go and find Geordi to celebrate your last hours of freedom. Are you on duty tonight?"

"I have only the nightwatch today. But Commander Riker has promised to be on standby, to take over as soon as I am required in sickbay."

"Good. Now why don't you go and do something fun. Ten Forward, or the holodeck or something. At the moment, the best thing to do is simply to stay out of Tasha's way. We'll call you as soon as the baby is underway."

Data nodded. "I will. Thank you for the advice, doctor." He got up and cast one more glance at Tasha, who stood perched over a wooden Nativity scene. And he shook his head in what looked like wonderment. "Her behaviour today has been most... intriguing."

On that note he left, and Dr. Crusher casually ambled over to Tasha.

"Tasha?"

"Mm?"

"What are you doing?"

"I've got to finish this. Before the baby comes."

"I see."

Silence while Tasha arranged the small wooden sheep into a flock.

"Well, when you're finished here, could you please come down to sickbay for a final check-up?"

"Sure."

"Good. I'll see you there then."

No reply. So Dr. Crusher left the cabin with a big smile on her face. "That won't be long now..."

But it wasn't until after six before Tasha showed up in sickbay. And it was a rather unresponsive Tasha, with eyes and thoughts that seemed to be lightyears away.

Dr. Crusher and nurse Ogawa exchanged a knowing smile as the doctor ran the medical scanner over Tasha's huge belly. "Fifty-three centimeters, approximately 3,700 grams. A healthy sized baby."

No reaction.

"And your body is absolutely primed to go into labour. It's only a matter of hours now."

A sigh.

"Tasha." Dr. Crusher took Tasha's hands in hers, and slowly, Tasha looked up, with a sudden expression of dawning realization where she was.

"Doc?"

"Yes." She smiled. "I believe you've been pretty busy today. Are you tired?"

It took a moment to penetrate, but then Tasha nodded. "But I got it done."

"Good. Then you go straight to your quarters now and take a last little nap. You'll be going into labour any moment now. So as soon as you have somewhat regular contractions I want you to call me and come straight to sickbay. Okay?"

"To sickbay. Yes."

Tasha slid her heavy body off the examination table and walked out into the corridor. She almost seemed to be sleepwalking.

And Dr. Crusher grinned at her nurse. "I don't know what plans you had for tonight, but you better cancel them. We'll be playing midwife before the day is over."

* * *

Tasha waddled back to her quarters on autopilot. People greeted her as usual, Riker even tried to strike up a conversation as they shared the turbolift, but she was barely aware of anyone. And when she entered her Christmassy quarters, she went straight to the bedroom and rolled down into the multitude of pillows on her bed. She was just _so_ tired... She just couldn't be bothered with anything anymore.

Except perhaps her commbadge. The small piece of metal dug painfully into her shoulder the way she was lying. At least that was an ache she could do something about. So she pulled the thing off her shirt and threw it somewhere towards the nightstand. All she wanted now – all she had wanted for the past few _months_ – was to sleep...

Amazingly enough, she dozed off pretty quickly. But the respite was pretty short: a painful, oddly familiar cramp in her belly awoke her with a start. She moaned and wrapped her arms around her belly as the pain grew in intensity, while pressing down the baby's head uncomfortably hard into her lower body. But after a minute or so, the cramp slowly subsided, leaving Tasha slightly out of breath.

She rolled onto her back, wrestled some of the pillows out of the way, and pushed her fringe away from her forehead.

So this was it. The first contraction. She'd be going into labour now – she _was_ in labour now. And soon Dr. Crusher would end it all and get little Myrna out through the surgical shortcut.

She caressed the giant curve of her belly. It wasn't really a nice round curve anymore; it was rather bumpy, with lumps showing the baby's every limb and every move. It was amazing that she still fit in there.

"Soon you'll be out now," she said quietly to the little creature still lying so uncomfortably heavy inside her. "I suppose it will be very different. Maybe even frightening at first. But don't worry. You'll be okay. We'll take very good care of you, I promise."

She realized it was the very first time she spoke to her unborn daughter that way. Sure, she'd been scolding her a bit during those nocturnal karate sessions, but so gentle, almost as a loving parent...? Maybe she was mother material after all?

But as a new contraction took hold of her belly, she realized that her first task now was to get this baby out of her. She tried to let the pain just come over her, without reflexively tensing every muscle in her body as Dr. Crusher had instructed her. But somehow that seemed more difficult on her back than it had been when she was lying on her side with the first one. So as the pain and the downward pressure increased, she struggled to roll over to be able to handle the pain a little better.

Still, was it just her imagination or was this contraction really so much stronger than that first one? She dug her teeth into her lip. The pain was even worse than she remembered from that other time, and with this giant belly there was no way she could roll herself into a ball as she instinctively tended to do whenever she was hurt. And didn't it ever pass?

But of course it did, and as Tasha lay there, trying to catch her breath, she decided she had enough proof that the baby was on the way. She was going down to sickbay right now to have this over and done with.

Make that: after she'd gone to the bathroom. She struggled to sit up... and suddenly she couldn't hold it!

She surprised herself by practically jumping up to dash to the bathroom, but too late: a veritable wave of lukewarm fluid already came streaming down the inside of her legs.

She looked down in horror at her own shocking incontinence – but then she realized. Her water had broken! She'd really better get to sickbay!

Or better get changed first. It'd be rather embarrassing to walk around the corridors showing off that she'd seriously wet herself. And a few more minutes wouldn't make much difference.

So it was but shortly after 1930 hours that she left her quarters and headed for the turbolift.

Walking was extremely uncomfortable nowadays. Myrna's head lay so deep in her, that it felt as if she would just drop out from between her legs at any moment. Dr. Crusher could assure her as much as she wanted to that such wouldn't happen; it still felt that way. Good thing this was the very, very, _very_ last time she would _ever_ have to walk with a hard balloon between her legs. For here was the turbolift, and from this turbolift it was a mere thirty meters walk to sickbay. And that was it.

She had the lift to herself. Good – then she didn't have to keep a straight face when she'd have to brace herself for the uncomfortable braking of the lift.

It was even worse than usual. The baby's head was forcibly pressed down into her pelvis, and it didn't even get better when the lift came to a halt. She staggered out, and realized as another painful cramp began to sear through her belly that the braking of the lift had coincided with her next contraction.

She held onto the railing along the corridor wall, struggling to stay upright as the pain washed over her. But the downward pressure of the baby was so forceful, so agonizing that all she could think about was trying to ease it off. Maybe a more horizontal position...?

With her teeth drawing blood from her lip, she sank down on her knees. And then on all fours. The baby was still pressing down hard, but at least it was somewhat bearable this way.

Suddenly, something shifted in her mind. _The rubble... The street... The pain... Shouting behind her. Sounds of a fight. This was her chance – she had to get away!_

_With the awful cramps __attacking her belly at full force, she crawled out of the dark alley. Where could she go? The pain was too violent; there was no way she would be able to run off._

_There. A manhole to the old sewerage system. She'd hid in the sewerage before. She might have a chance there if they didn't see her go in._

_She crawled over and worked the lid off. A last glance back at the fighting – there was a roar; had they spotted her? Quick then! Before they came after her! _

_Hurriedly she climbed down the hole, closed the hatch behind her, and started to crawl in a zigzag route through the underground labyrinth. "Have to keep moving! Keep moving or they'll find me!" she told herself over and over again. _

_But every new cramp was worse than the previous, slowing her down considerably. It _couldn't_ be! She knew she was with child, that was true, but it _couldn't_ be! Not yet! Too soon! Her belly had barely begun to expand; the baby couldn't _possibly_ be ready to come out yet! And giving birth... Noooo! She _couldn't_! Not alone! She didn't want to die! It just _couldn't_ be!_

_She bit her lip to ravels. The waves of pain got worse and worse, but she had to keep moving or they'd find her and take her again. She couldn't let them find her, not like this..._

* * *

"I see you've taken my advice." Dr. Crusher grinned as she entered Riker's quarters and discovered Data at the poker table.

Data nodded. "I am celebrating my last hours of freedom, as you suggested, doctor. I have spent some time chatting and playing chess in Ten Forward, now there is the officers' poker game, and if there is still time after that, Geordi and I have booked a holodeck till I go on duty."

"Don't count on it," the doctor told him. "I expect we'll be called out of this game within the hour."

"That close, huh?" Riker finished shuffling the cards and began to deal them.

"Any moment now." The doctor picked up her first card.

And Geordi slapped his friend on the back. "Aren't you nervous yet, Data?"

"You know I cannot feel nervosity, Geordi," Data pointed out. "Besides, what is there to be nervous about?"

Geordi grinned. "Well, if I'd ever come on the brink of becoming a Dad, I assure you I'd be a nervous wreck. I think all men are."

Data frowned and turned to Dr. Crusher. "Should I attempt to be a 'nervous wreck' then?"

The room echoed with laughter, and Data glanced around in puzzlement until a still laughing Dr. Crusher put her hand on his arm. "No, Data. You just be right who you are. You'll be of much more help to Tasha if you're_ not_ a nervous wreck."

And with that, the first poker game began. Followed by another. And another. And another. And another. Data seemed totally unperturbed, but every now and then, Dr. Crusher couldn't stop herself from glancing at her watch. Could she really have been that far off in her interpretation of Tasha's condition?

So when the poker night was broken up at 2230 hours, she quickly excused herself to page Tasha to hear what was going on. "Dr. Crusher to Lt. Yar. Tasha?" she repeated as she got no acknowledgement.

Still nothing.

"Computer, locate Lt. Yar."

"_Lt. Yar is in her quarters."_

Maybe she was fast asleep? Better let her sleep then; she could use the rest.

Come to think of it, a nap might not be such a bad idea for herself either. It had been a long day, and if she was going to have to play midwife halfway through the night, it might be wise to get some sleep while she could. And as long as that baby wasn't on the way...

* * *

.

_A/N: thanks to EstellaDoreaBlack for the __idea of the disastrous consequences of Data being told to 'get lost', as expressed in a review a loooong time ago_ :-)


	18. So it did happen after all!

**Warning: if you _know_ that you are rather squeamish, reading this chapter is at your own risk!  
**

**At least yo****u'v****e been forewarned :-)  
**

.

* * *

.

She knew something was wrong the moment she woke up from the beep of the alarm clock system.

_0700 hours. Tasha should have been long in labour by now._

She took her commbadge and sat up. "Dr. Crusher to Lt. Yar."

No response.

"Dr. Crusher to Lt. Yar. Tasha! Acknowledge, please!"

Still no response.

"Computer, where is Lt. Yar?"

"_Lt. Yar is in her quarters."_

Then why didn't she answer?

"Dr. Crusher to sickbay."

"_Dr. Selar here."_

"Dr. Selar, has Lt. Yar checked in at all during the night?"

"_Negative, doctor."_

Her hand tightened around the commbadge. "Then I'm going to see her first now. Crusher out."

She threw back the covers and hurriedly got dressed. A quick brush through her hair, make-up could wait... For she had this sudden awful hunch that Tasha – upon going into labour – had been overwhelmed by the trauma from that miscarriage she had had as a teenager, and lay now in her cabin confusing past and present, all alone, going through labour and giving birth without any support... She could just _kick_ herself! _Why_ hadn't she gone and checked on her after the poker game last night?

Wesley appeared in the doorway. "Mum, have you seen my..."

"Sorry Wes, gotta go." She ran past him and out the door. Tasha's quarters were a few decks above hers. The turbolift, a run down the corridor attracting quite a few stares...

The doorchime got no response, so she ordered medical override of the doorlock and barged into Tasha's cabin.

A quick look around was enough to establish that Tasha wasn't there. Had she just missed her?

"Computer, the location of Tasha Yar."

"_Lt. Natasha Yar is in her quarters."_

What the heck...!

And then she saw it. The commbadge, lying on the floor next to the nightstand. The Starfleet commbadge that also served as a personal locator for the computer.

Which not only meant that Tasha could be _anywhere_, but also that the computer would be of no help in locating her_ real_ whereabouts.

She looked around for clues, and noticed the jogging-pants and underwear left on the floor. Weren't those the pants she had been wearing yesterday?

She picked them up, and immediately noticed how damp their crotch and the inside of the legs were. Damp; not wet. She brought it to her nose. "Amniotic fluid alright. But it's had so much time to dry that it must have been yesterday evening when it happened. Dammit!" That meant Tasha had probably been in labour all night! The baby could already be born by now!

But _where_ was she?

Wait, one more chance. She dashed back out into the corridor and rang the doorchime at Data's quarters. But neither there did she get any response, and another medical override showed that Data's cabin was as deserted as Tasha's own.

That was it; she was out of logical options now. "Dr. Crusher to Data."

"_Data here."_

"Data, have you seen Tasha?"

"_No, doctor. I have not seen her since yesterday afternoon, when you advised me to go and celebrate my last hours of freedom."_

"Dammit!"

"_Is something bothering you, doctor?"_

"Yes, Data! I've found pretty strong evidence in her cabin that she's gone into labour _hours_ ago, but I can't _find_ her. She might be giving birth this very minute!"

"_Would you like me to come and help you search for her? I do not think the Captain would object to my leaving my post for that."_

"Yes, by all means!" That gave her another idea. "Dr. Crusher to Worf!"

"_Worf here."_

"Worf, I need everyone you can spare. We've got to locate Tasha as soon as possible, but she doesn't have her commbadge on her."

"_Aye, doctor."_

"And Worf, tell your people _not_ to approach her. She's probably in full labour. I just need you to locate her for me."

"_Understood. Worf out."_

And as the security people swarmed out over the ship, Dr. Crusher shook her head as she went down to sickbay awaiting the announcement of their success. It seemed that the arrival of the first newborn on the Enterprise-D was going to stir up the entire ship...

* * *

But it weren't Worf's people who stumbled upon Tasha. It was Geordi.

He walked into Engineering that morning, whistling an old Mars tune. After Lt. Commander Leland T. Lynch had broken his neck in a nasty but stupid accident last month, the Captain had made him Acting Chief Engineer awaiting Starfleet's assignment of a new one. And even though his temporary promotion had a tragic cause, he enjoyed the role and the responsibility to his heart's content. _This_ was his dearest wish in life: to one day be responsible for the care of a beautiful ship like the Enterprise. And a few weeks practice on the job was so much to the good.

After the Engineering's nightwatch had filled him in on the state of the engines, he took over and began to run the daily routine checks, meanwhile wondering why he hadn't heard from Data yet.

He chuckled to himself as he recalled their visit to the holodeck last night. Data had wanted to try and experience being 'a nervous wreck' if that was indeed the norm for human males on the brink of becoming a father, and had called up some program of a banquet hall that was – as far as _he_ knew – intended for large scale diplomatic gatherings. Instead, Data had started hurling every holographic plate, glass, bowl and whatever else was on the tables at the wall, crashing every piece of glass- and chinaware into a thousand pieces. And at his baffled inquiry, Data had explained that this was what Tasha had done ten days ago, when 'a nervous wreck' was a fairly accurate description of her mood. "However, I assure you I will restrict myself to throwing the crockery at the walls. I will not attempt to damage you by throwing it at your head, like she did with me." Once he'd gotten over his laughing fit, he'd happily joined his friend in the crockery crashing, and when they were through the vast amount of crockery available, they had simply reset the program and started all over again. It sure had been – as Data would say – a most intriguing experience.

But when they had parted, he had made Data promise to let him know as soon as the baby was born. Dr. Crusher had been so adamant last night that the baby could come any minute now, that he thought it odd that he hadn't heard anything yet. Perhaps Data had forgotten? No, not Data. Not possible. Which could only mean that the baby wasn't born yet. Poor Tasha.

He switched to the check of the secondary systems.

And that's when he heard it: a strange, irregular moaning sound, with an eerie echo to it.

He froze, trying to determine where it came from. If _this_ came from the engines, they'd have a major problem on their hands.

Slowly, he walked in the direction of the sound. It was... It came from the Jefferies tube! "Now what the heck could make a noise like that?" he muttered. He opened the hatch and crawled inside to take a look.

Inside the tubes there were even more disturbing sounds echoing off the metallic walls: sobbing, stifled crying, groans, and a lot of heavy panting. Someone was there, and in pretty bad distress, too, he realized.

"Hello? Where are you?"

A terrified shriek was his reply. Followed by crying, moaning, panting, and shuffling. As if they moved away.

"Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you," he called as he quickly crawled forward towards the sound. "I just want to help you. Where are you?"

A howling, _"Nooooo!"_ came floating back to him from the crawlspace ahead veering off to his right.

And there she was: drenched in sweat, with a haggard, terrified look in her eyes, desperately trying to get away from him. But even his untrained medical eye could see that she was in terrible agony, and that her body relentlessly forced her to push at the baby even as she made haphazard attempts to flee from him.

"Tasha?" He gulped. Hard. She wasn't about to have the baby on him, was she? _He_ sure couldn't help a kid into the world! He needed help here! And fast!

He slammed his commbadge as he saw Tasha drag herself around a corner. "La Forge to Dr. Crusher!"

"_Crusher here."_

"Doc, I've got Tasha in the Jefferies tubes here. I think she's about to have the baby!"

"_Thank goodness! Where are you?"_

"In the Jefferies tubes, deck 36, intersection K46. The shortest way in is via Engineering. Tasha is trying to get away from me; she looks almost _wild_, doc. She's in an awful lot of pain."

"Don't_ go after her. I'll be with you in a moment."_

"Acknowledged. La Forge out." He listened for a moment. He could still hear Tasha's moans and muffled crying. He shuddered. Giving birth sure was ghastly business...

Dr. Crusher joined him but a few minutes later with a bag of supplies and a blanket. "Where is she?"

"In here. Hear? And she's taken the first turn left. She can't have gotten far."

"Good. I'll take care of this. But I've also sent for an anti-grav stretcher to come to Engineering. When I call you, can you show them the way? But only _after_ I call you."

"Roger, doc." He began to move away to get back to his own work, but hesitated again. "And wish Tasha luck from me, will you? She sure looked like she'd need it."

"I will. And Geordi?"

"Yes?"

"Get Data here on the double, will you? I wouldn't want him to miss out on the birth of his own daughter."

Geordi grinned. "Him rather than me!" And as he crawled off, the doctor already heard him page his best friend. "La Forge to Data!"

"_Data here."_

"Data, you better get the hell over here, man: you'll be a father any moment now!"

"_Where are you?"_ As unperturbed as ever.

"In the Jefferies tubes. Better come down to Engineering on the double and I'll show you."

* * *

Dr. Crusher crawled off with her supplies in the direction Geordi had indicated. She turned left as instructed, but there was still no sign from Tasha other than the heavy panting and moaning echoing off the walls. She couldn't have gone far.

And indeed: at the next intersection she spotted the haggard looking Tasha a few meters down the righthand tube.

"_Nooo!_ Get away from me!" Tasha desperately struggled to sit up, but clearly couldn't quite manage it anymore. So she furiously began to push herself away in a semi horizontal position.

One look at her was enough for Dr. Crusher to have her worst suspicions confirmed: in her mind, Tasha was back on her home planet, reliving the secret traumas from her youth. She was going to _have_ to snap her out of that. And it took precedence even over checking on the baby who – as she clearly saw from Tasha's bulging crotch – was on the very brink of being born the natural way.

And if that was the way it was going to be, then Tasha was going to need every fiber of strength she had. So nix with the tranquillizer; back to basics.

She quickly overtook the struggling, heavily panting Tasha. Tasha made an unexpected forceful attempt to push her away, but the doctor knew what had to be done: she slapped her in the face. Hard. Two times. Three. Four.

The haggard look in Tasha's eyes slowly vanished as they focused on the friendly face of the familiar doctor. "Doc...! I'm..." A long moan as her body forced her to push at the baby again. "The baby... I'm..." And then she burst out in tears. "_Help _me, doc... She's..." Another unignorable urge to push. "She's... It hurts _so_ much...!" Moaning. Pushing. Panting. "She's too big! I can't... Pain...!" She fell back down, clearly exhausted. But her body wouldn't relent – she had to keep pushing, whether she wanted to or not.

Carefully, Dr. Crusher pulled her in her arms and soothingly wiped the sweat of Tasha's forehead. "I know. But you're almost done: the baby is _almost_ out. And I'll give you something for the pain right away."

Tasha clung onto her. "But it _hurts_..." she half cried, half panted through another push. "Hurts so _bad_...!"

"I know." Dr. Crusher rocked her oh so gently. "I know it hurts terribly, Tasha. But let me give you something for the pain, so you can push her out that very last bit. She's already pushing at the exit; all that's needed now is to get her out. I promise: it's almost over now." Cautiously, she untangled herself from Tasha, and moved back to check on the baby. But her mere approach of Tasha's bulging nether regions caused an agonized, "_Nooo!_ Don't touch me!" And desperate crying. "_Don't _take me again... _Please _no!"

Dr. Crusher froze as Tasha once more tried to back away from her. Had Tasha been _raped_ back then while she was...? ! No wonder she had...

But no time to dwell on that now. There were far more urgent matters at hand. "Tasha, try to stay focused," she urged gently. "You're on the Enterprise. I'm a doctor. I'm here to help you; I am _not_ going to 'take' you."

Crying, panting, another half-hearted attempt at pushing. A desperate, "Doc... _help me_..."

"Yes. I'm here to help you. But in order to help you get the baby out, I'm going to _have_ to touch you down here." She waited a moment as Tasha once again was forced to push. It seemed to have little effect. "Will you let me touch you? I promise I'm _not_ going to hurt you."

Tasha just kept panting. Another attempt at pushing. "Just... get her out..." she brought out.

"Okay. I'll be as gentle as I can." She ran a quick tricorder scan on the baby – she was doing okay so far, but she really ought to get out of her cramped predicament pretty quickly now. Obviously, Tasha had been pushing for quite some time already. At least the child lay in the most favourable position. Tasha herself was slightly dehydrated, but for the rest, her physical readings were within the norm of the circumstances; that was good.

She took the hypospray. "I'm going to give you something now to ease the pain. Don't be afraid; I won't hurt you." Tasha still shrank back as she placed her hand, and then the hypospray on her lower belly, but at least she allowed her to touch her now. "That should make the pushing a little less of an agony. Now push!"

Tasha tried.

"Push! With every ounce of strength you got!"

Another half-hearted attempt. And she burst out in choked tears again. "I _can't_..."

"Yes, you can. You can do it. Just a _little_ further and she's out. Now push!" the doctor encouraged her.

"I can't!" Another forceful urge to push took hold of her, but she just couldn't seem to find the strength to really push along.

"Tasha, you can _do_ it if you focus on it. Focus on one thing only: _that baby has to come out_. And you can do it. You're nearly there. So push!"

More exhausted crying. Another half-hearted attempt. Clearly, snapping her out of that delusion unfortunately had snapped her out of her concentration as well. And Dr. Crusher realized it could get really tricky to get her fully focused again on getting the baby out. Perhaps they should go to sickbay first after all – at least all the necessary tools to assist her were at hand there.

And there was Data. "Doctor," he greeted her. And then turned to Tasha. A slight frown furrowed his brow. "Tasha, are you alright?"

"No... Just leave me alone..." Another vague attempt at pushing out the agonizing bulk from her lower body. And more tears. "I can't _do_ it! It's... I don't... I don't _want_ this baby," she half cried. "Just get it out of me..."

Data frowned. "Had we not agreed that I would take care of the baby?"

Dr. Crusher shook her head at him, and told Tasha: "Tasha, the quickest way to get her out is for you to _push_. Push as hard as you can! You're nearly there, so come on: just push!"

As a moaning Tasha tried again, Data inquired, "Doctor, were you not going to deliver our daughter through a caesarean section?"

"I was. But the baby's come way too far for that. She's almost out, see? Performing a caesarean now would be rather hazardous to both Tasha and the baby. Safer to let her be born the natural way now."

Data looked back at the panting Tasha. "She seems to be in extreme distress. Is there anything I can do to assist her?"

"Yes. You can help her push along if you like." She placed his hands on Tasha's belly, around the baby's buttocks and told him to gently push downward whenever Tasha pushed.

But Tasha pulled him away. "Hold me," she panted. "I want to... sit up. ... Easier."

Dr. Crusher saw with surprise that but a few words of guidance from Tasha – in between some more vague attempts at pushing – were sufficient for Data to position himself behind her and hold her in the exact position Tasha wanted him to. It was obvious that they had quite some experience together in helping her to get comfortable. And with her head resting in his lap, and her arms wrapped around his where he held her under her armpits, she seemed to draw strength from him, and suddenly her pushing was strong and focused enough again to be effective.

Gently, she supported the strained tissue as it overstretched to try and let the baby's head pass, but Tasha barely flinched at her touch now that she felt Data's arms around her. One more push – no, one more... and the baby's head didn't slide back anymore. "Good! Gently now. Her head is almost out."

Tasha panted, pushed again, and oh so slowly she felt the front part of the heavy bulk leave her body.

"I've got her head!" Dr. Crusher announced. "Easy now. Just a little more now. Push calmly to get the shoulder out. You're doing just fine."

Now that the first bulk had passed, it was slightly easier to push out the next bit. Tasha pushed, and panted, pushed, and panted along with the doctor's quickly changing instructions, and at last, she felt the baby's torso slithering out of her, and Dr. Crusher lifting her out completely.

Tasha let out a gasp of relief.

And Dr. Crusher, too, couldn't quench a little laugh as she wiped off the worst of the smear from the baby's face. "There! I knew you could do it!" She took out her medical scanner to check the baby.

"Is she alright?" Tasha panted anxiously.

The doctor smiled. "She's fine. A very healthy young lady." She cleared the child's airways, gave the tiny bum an expert slap, and after a first difficult breath, the fragile cry of a newborn echoed through the Jefferies tubes.

"Medical log, stardate..." She glanced at her watch. "41965.4. Lt. Natasha Yar has given birth to a daughter, earth date December 19th, 2364, at 0912 hours." Her voice sounded rather croaky, and she swallowed to get the lump out of her throat.

"Can I hold her?" Tasha asked with tears in her voice.

"Sure. Just a moment."

Tasha winced, and bit her lip as the doctor swiftly tied off and cut the umbilical cord. Not that it really hurt, but the idea of severing her baby's sole life support from the past nine months... Now she'd really have to struggle to stay alive on her own...

And then Dr. Crusher placed her on her chest...

Tasha held her breath. _Her _daughter... _This_ was the child she'd been carrying for all those months. The child who'd kept her awake through so many nights. The child she'd been struggling for an unaccountable time today to get out of her. The child who was an exact copy of herself, but oh boy, was she going to see to it that she'd have a happier childhood than she herself had had. The child she was never, _ever_ going to let go...

"So what's her name?" Dr. Crusher inquired.

"Myrna," Tasha answered, still a little out of breath. "Myrna Data Yar." Carefully, she caressed the baby's bald head. "She's beautiful," she whispered with tears in her voice. "Absolutely _perfect_..." The little nose, the tiny mouth, her long eyelashes, the cute little ears, the tiny little fists...

She looked up at Data's face hovering above her. "Our daughter, Data."

A barely perceptible nod. Data seemed absolutely mesmerized by the sight of his daughter.

She took one of his hands from where they lay, still holding her around her upper chest, and brought it over to the baby. "Come and meet our little Myrna," she smiled, and placed his hand on the baby's back.

At first it just lay there. She looked up at him. His eyes were glued to their little daughter, and held an almost astonished expression she had never seen from him before. "Data?"

Still without uttering a word, he began to caress the baby's back, oh so gently. Maybe it was the different texture of his skin that attracted Myrna's attention, for she opened her eyes and...

Tasha gasped. "Doc!"

"What?" Dr. Crusher knew when to make herself scarce, but whatever was the matter clearly called for her expertise.

And then she saw it, too.

The not quite focused look with which Myrna now looked up at her mother came from bright yellow eyes. _Data's eyes_.

.


	19. The first day with Myrna

Dr. Crusher grabbed her medical scanner. And shook her head. "I don't understand: she checks out as fully human."

A shiver went through Tasha, and the doctor saw it. "Let's get you two to sickbay first. And there we'll check her out thoroughly."

As the doctor called Geordi to have the anti-grav stretcher sent in, Tasha suddenly felt the tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt so weak, so utterly drained now that it was all over... And now there was something wrong with their little girl after all?

Data gently tightened his grip around her, and gratefully, she sought out his hand. He hadn't uttered a word yet since Myrna was born, she realized.

But there was the stretcher, and from that moment on everything just seemed to happen. She and Myrna were lifted onto the stretcher by Data and one of the medics, and a welcome warm blanket was tucked in around them. They had some trouble manoeuvering the stretcher out of the Jefferies labyrinth, but once they reached the exit, practically the entire Engineering crew was waiting for them, ready to give a hand to help everybody out – and catch a glimpse of the galaxy's first naturally conceived child to an android. Data got another slap on the back from Geordi, there were a few congratulations, and as they made their way to the turbolift, she could hear Geordi calling the bridge to announce the birth of the 'little Tasha'.

_If only he knew..._

But there was sickbay, and she was lifted onto a fresh and comfortable biobed.

Tasha looked up at Data. He hadn't left her side for a moment – but still hadn't said a word. That wasn't like Data at all. What was wrong with him?

But there was no time to address his uncommon silence yet: Dr. Crusher began to run a thorough scan of the little child on her chest, and double checking her findings with another tricorder.

"There is nothing wrong with her eyesight; the readings are well within the norm for a human newborn. And there's not even a _trace_ of non-human components in her DNA. Computer," she spoke up, "compare this DNA sample with the DNA on file from Lt. Natasha Yar."

"_There is a variation of point-zero-two-six-five percent."_

She glanced back at Data. "There goes your theory, Data."

He merely nodded, his eyes still glued to his daughter.

"Computer," the doctor continued. "Can the variation be traced back to Commander Data?"

"_Affirmative. The variation corresponds with elements from the DNA pattern found in the organic components of Lt. Commander Data."_

They both turned to stare at him.

"Computer, is Lt. Commander Data capable of producing elements for procreation containing his DNA pattern?"

"_Insufficient information."_

"Then calculate the probability."

"_The probability is negligible."_

"Yet the variation in the child's DNA corresponds with Mr. Data's DNA?"

"_Affirmative."_

"How is that possible if the chances of him procreating with DNA carrying elements are negligible?"

"_Insufficient information."_

"But the child is 100% human?"

"_Affirmative."_

Slowly, Dr. Crusher shook her head. "Data, I'm at a loss as to how you did it, but apparently you _are_ Myrna's biological father in every sense of the word!"

"But what about her eyes?" Tasha asked anxiously.

"There's nothing wrong with her eyesight; it's just their colour that's rather... unusual." She smiled and patted Myrna on the back. "I suppose yellow is dominant over blue. But I don't think it's something we really need to worry about. She's as healthy as can be."

Tasha let out a sigh of relief.

Dr. Crusher gave her a warm smile. "That's good news, eh? Now while we wait for the afterbirth to come out, why don't I grant the three of you a little privacy. Call me when you think it's coming."

As soon as Dr. Crusher had turned away, Tasha reached for Data's hand. She felt exhilirated, exhausted, utterly relieved, astonished – everything at once. But Data's uncommon silence worried her a bit. He _still_ hadn't said a single word since his daughter was born. He just kept... _gazing_ at her.

"Data, are you alright?"

His eyes – Myrna's eyes – flitted to her face, and back to the little bundle on her chest. "I am... speechless," he admitted quietly.

She squeezed his hand. "Yes. It's been quite... overwhelming, all this."

"Yes." Delicately, he caressed his daughter's head with one finger. "But that is not what I meant. I am speechless in the literal sense of the word. My thought process seems to be jammed. The only thought that keeps repeating itself over and over again is that this fragile little creature is my daughter. I have not been capable of any other thought since I saw her coming out of your body. Just: 'This is my daughter. This is my daughter. This is my daughter'." He paused. "I will have to ask Geordi to run a full diagnostic on my positronic brain."

She had a tired smile. "I don't think there's anything wrong with you, Data. My thoughts are a jumble, too, all centered around 'this is my daughter'."

"Ah." He frowned. "But you are a human. I am an android."

"But we've both just been witness to a miracle. A miracle we helped create ourselves. And even if it doesn't affect you emotionally, miracles do tend to defy all logic. So maybe that's what's causing the problems in your thought process."

Silence as they both watched his finger trace the child's little auricle. "Yes," Data said at last. "She is a miracle."

Tasha smiled. "Our little miracle."

His eyes finally found hers. "And I do believe I owe you an apology. I had not realized that the process of giving birth was so exhausting for the mother. I am sorry that my actions on March 17th last were the cause of so much distress for you."

Tasha looked at the little bundle on her chest. And she pulled him close – close enough for a one-armed hug. "Thanks, Data. And thanks for helping me through that last bit. But you know what?" She let out a soft laugh. "I'm beginning to believe it was worth it."

* * *

Once the final yucky part of giving birth was dealt with, it was time to face the next ordeal. Or at least, that's how Tasha perceived it. _She_ going off to take a shower, and letting _Data_ bathe and dress her baby?

"What? No!" She ensconced Myrna in her arms. "I don't want _anyone_ to touch her. She's mine."

Dr. Crusher couldn't help a little laugh. "I'm sorry, Tasha, but there's something every mother has to learn. And it starts right after their baby is born: _she's not exclusively yours anymore_. From now on, you're going to have to let her go. And it begins with sharing her with the father. She's his daughter, too, remember?"

"Yes, but..." Tasha looked absolutely stricken at the mere thought of entrusting _her _little baby to someone else. "I don't know... I..."

"I'll keep an eye on Data for you," the doctor promised. "And you'll have her back in your arms in a good ten minutes. With both of you nice and fresh and dressed."

Tasha still wasn't convinced, but Dr. Crusher solved the matter by simply picking up Myrna and depositing her in her father's arms. "Off you go now. The sooner you go, the sooner you have her back in your arms. Alyssa!"

Nurse Ogawa hurried over and helped Tasha up. Poor Tasha couldn't take her eyes off _her_ daughter in Data's arms. It was wrong, it was...!

But the nurse led her relentlessly away, and once she sat down in the shower and felt the luxury of soothing warm water streaming down on her, she began to realize that a shower was actually just what her exhausted body needed. Still, as the nurse gently sponged her off with a sweet scented soap, and even quickly washed her hair, she couldn't help glancing at the bathroom door at least every ten seconds. Her baby... _Her_ little Myrna... _How_ was Data handling her...?

* * *

As a matter of fact, Dr. Crusher thought Data was doing just fine. The practice he had gotten in the nursery a few months ago was well ingrained in his positronic brain, and he handled the bathing of his daughter with confident ease.

Still, while he was gently wiping off the smear from her little body, he commented, "She is indeed quite a bit smaller than the babies I practised on."

"Oh, she'll grow soon enough," the doctor assured him. She watched how his pale hands washed his daughter. It seemed more as if he was caressing her. And all the time, the two pairs of yellow eyes were locked on each other.

"Are you proud of your daughter?" she asked with a smile.

But Data shook his head. "You know that I am incapable of emotion, doctor. I cannot feel pride." He sounded almost wistful.

"But you said you did feel proud when you learned that you had conceived a child even when you were not designed to," Dr. Crusher recalled.

He nodded. "You are correct, doctor. I was proud to achieve something I did not know I was capable of. But this is different. Myrna's birth was not my achievement. Still..." He hesitated. "Never before have I so longed for the ability to feel something. I am sure the birth of one's own child is a very emotional event. I do not fully understand what it is that I am missing out on – but I am acutely aware that I am missing out on something important, something desirable inherent to such an event."

"And that saddens you."

"I cannot feel sadness either, doctor."

"But you do wish you could've been more affected by your daughter's birth."

"Affirmative."

Dr. Crusher already opened her mouth to tell him that this wish in itself was already a rudimentary form of emotion, but Data continued, "It also reminds me that perhaps I am not the most suitable person to raise a human child. For I will not be able to teach her how to express her emotions."

"So she'll grow up as a Vulcan." Dr. Crusher snickered at his puzzled frown. "Just kidding, Data. Anyway, from what I've seen from Tasha's reaction to her daughter so far, I'd be very much surprised if she'd indeed leave little Myrna's upbringing entirely to you. So that should compensate for your shortcomings."

"Ah. Yes. She does appear to be rather possessive of her."

"Exactly. To be honest, I was _hoping_ this would happen once she was born. But it does mean that you're going to have to be very persuasive if you'd like to have a chance at taking care of your daughter yourself."

"How so?" Data lifted his daughter out of the water and onto a soft towel. Her uncoordinated kicking movements splashed quite some drops on his uniform. "We have already agreed that I will take care of her. Why would she need persuading now in order for me to do so?"

"Data, in all these months, has she ever actually said that she _wanted_ to take care of the baby once it was born?"

Data's eyes flicked rapidly back and forth. "Negative, doctor." He began to rub the little girl dry.

"Yet now that she's born, we could barely convince her to leave Myrna with you for a few minutes so that she could take a shower."

Data nodded. "You are correct. That is not consistent with the behaviour she expected to show once the baby was born."

"It's quite the opposite," Dr. Crusher agreed. "So whatever you two agreed to before, I think you'd better be prepared to renegotiate." She handed him a diaper, and watched how he deftly put it on his little daughter. Myrna was sucking on her middle and ringfinger now, and lay gravely contemplating her father's face.

Dr. Crusher smiled. "She probably sucked those very same fingers in the womb, too."

Data nodded. "It is precisely the position in which she had them when Commander Riker spirited her into my arms a few months ago."

Dr. Crusher's interest was instantly piqued. "Does she look exactly the same?"

Data studied his daughter for a moment. "She was asleep at the time, so I could not see the colour of her eyes. But she was six point three centimeters longer. And the shape of her head was... different. But she has exactly the same facial features."

"Well, this one's just had her skull pushed through a terribly narrow hole. A newborn's head is always slightly deformed when it's born the natural way. But don't worry, it'll straighten itself out." She handed him a white little baby-suit. "You can dress her in this for now, and fetch some of her own clothes later."

Data wriggled her little legs into it, but the problems arose when he came to the arms. Gently, he pulled her hand away from her mouth – but Myrna instantly took hold of his finger. He tried to pull it free, to wriggle it free, but he found her hold incredibly strong. "Myrna, I do require the use of my finger," he informed her earnestly. To no avail.

Dr. Crusher chuckled. "Just pry it loose, Data, and then put her hand straight through that sleeve before she grabs your finger again."

That worked. He was just zipping up the girl's outfit when they heard Tasha's anxious, "Is she okay?" She and Alyssa hadn't even entered the room yet.

Dr. Crusher winked at Data. "See what I mean? She's just fine," she continued to Tasha. "So you hop back onto that biobed, and we'll see if we can get her to drink something. She's probably hungry by now. As are you, I imagine."

Nurse Ogawa helped her to sit on the bed, and Dr. Crusher got a glass of water and a small feeding bottle with warm breast milk from the replicator.

Tasha sighed with relief when Data placed their daughter safe and sound in her arms again. "Hi, little one," she cooed softly. "Mummy is back."

Myrna was still very much awake, and gazed up at her mother with the same contemplating stare she had given her father just now. Dr. Crusher helped the new mother to pry Myrna's fingers out of her mouth in favour of the bottle's teat, and after a few large gulps with hesitant swallowing and letting most of the fluid run out of her mouth – "Perhaps we should have tried to feed her first, before bathing her," Data commented – Myrna seemed to get the hang of drinking from a bottle.

And Tasha just wore a heavenly smile. "She's so sweet..."

The peace in sickbay didn't last long: Wesley's head appeared in the doorway. "Can we come and see her?"

Dr. Crusher glanced back at Tasha. She could really do with some rest, but... "Okay. A few minutes."

And in filed Wesley, followed by Deanna, Geordi, Will Riker, and lastly Worf, and they all crowded around mother, child and father.

"Congratulations, Data!" Riker said. "You're a real Dad now!"

And Deanna asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted," Tasha admitted. "But she's just so sweet... I had no idea it felt like this to hold your own child in your arms."

It was Wesley who suddenly gasped. "She's got yellow eyes! Data!"

"That is correct, Wesley," Data explained amidst the astonished exclamations of the others. "My theory has clearly been proven wrong. Point-zero-two-six-five percent of her DNA originates from my organic components, and we have not yet been able to establish an improved hypothesis as to how I propagate."

Wesley grinned. "I bet Mum would love to study you for a week or so."

"I would be happy to oblige her," Data nodded.

"Well, it does make her absolutely unique," Deanna commented. "So what's her name?"

"Myrna," Tasha replied. "Myrna Data Yar."

"Myrna means 'beloved', Commander," Data explained. "As you see, I have followed your advice."

Riker grinned.

"But if she has Commander Data's eyes, does that mean she's part android?" Worf wanted to know.

"No, Lieutenant. She is 100% human," Data said. "According to Dr. Crusher's readings, only the colour of her eyes is rather extraordinary for a human."

"Well, point-zero-two-whatever isn't much she got from you," Geordi shot in. "But I like it. It's real proof that you are the father. And it does give her kind of a special look."

"She has a very pensive look," Deanna observed as she let Myrna grab hold of her indexfinger.

"Well, how would you look if all you've ever known is your mother's tummy, and suddenly you find yourself on a starship with half a dozen strangers peering down at you?"

They all laughed at Riker's remark (except Data of course), but Dr. Crusher broke up the party. "Okay, shoo everyone! You can come back later. Mother and daughter have had a pretty bad night; they could really do with a nap."

Obediently, they all filed out. Including Data.

Dr. Crusher called him back. "Data, _you_ can stay here as long as you like. You're the father."

"Thank you, doctor, but I have some urgent business to attend to with Geordi. So unless Tasha requires my presence during her nap, I thought it seemed a reasonable opportunity to run the necessary diagnostic on my brain."

Dr. Crusher looked thoroughly puzzled, but Tasha heard his words, too, and snickered softly. "It's fine, Data. If you really think it's necessary, then now would be a good time, yes. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Thank you, Tasha. I shall." He turned to leave, and the doctor called after him that he was welcome anytime he wanted.

"And now let's get you under that bioregenerator, and get you some much needed rest."

* * *

It was late that night when Dr. Crusher peeked into the darkened sickbay room. "Tasha?"

"Yes, I'm awake."

She came closer. "I just wanted to see how mother and child are doing."

Tasha had a tired grimace. "The child is sleeping like a log. But the mother hasn't slept a wink yet. My mind is simply running overtime."

She smiled. "I can imagine that. An awful lot has happened today."

"Yes." Tasha sighed. "And I just can't stop thinking. I mean, security is not exactly the safest line of work. What if something would happen to me?"

"Then Data will take care of her, I suppose. Just as you originally planned."

"But will they _let_ him? I mean, there are so many people who regard Data as a mere walking computer. Especially those who've never met him. Won't the authorities simply take her away from him then? Saying that a child can't be raised by a computer? And what will become of her then?"

Dr. Crusher pondered it for a moment, and had to admit it was a fairly likely scenario. "Unless you officially appoint a legal guardian who'd take over your responsibility for her upon your death. Then you can even outline in advance that you'd want her to stay with Data, and have the guardian act as a mere supervisor."

"Like a godparent, you mean?"

"Yes. But then laid down officially."

"But I don't have any living relatives. And neither does Data."

"Well, a trusted friend can do it, too."

"Doc... Beverly, can't _you_ be her guardian? You've done such a great job in raising Wesley; I'm sure you'd do whatever is best for Myrna. For I don't want to see her treated as a scientific oddity either. I know _you_ would never do that."

Beverly Crusher smiled. "I'd be honoured. Thank you." She stroked little Myrna's head in an affectionate gesture. "She is kind of special to me already. But Tasha..." A deep breath. "It might be wise to ask someone a bit closer at hand. If trouble should strike, it's likely to strike here. And it'd be hard for me to take control of the situation from lightyears away."

Tasha's eyes flew instantly to the doctor's face. "Why? Are you leaving?"

She nodded. "I've accepted a position as head of Starfleet Medical back on Earth, so I'll be leaving the Enterprise in less than a fortnight."

Tasha remained silent, and stiff-lipped, and the doctor placed a hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, Tasha. I've kept it quiet for a couple of weeks already, mainly because I didn't want to risk upsetting you. But now that your delivery is past, it's time the news got out into the open."

Tasha averted her eyes. "It's just that you're the first person I've really trusted since... I don't know how many years. Maybe even my entire life. I'd just really hate to lose you."

Dr. Crusher squeezed her hand. "I understand. But you do trust Data, too, don't you?"

Tasha sighed. "Yes, but that's different. He's..." She grimaced. "Not human. There are things he simply can't grasp. And you can."

"I understand." She smiled. "But at least we can keep in touch. I want to know every detail of Myrna's development!"

Tasha had a wan smile. "You bet. And I still want you to be her guardian. Maybe you could share the job with someone here." That brought another thought to mind. "So who's going to replace you?"

"I don't know; I haven't heard yet. But neither Richard Hill nor Selar have the necessary qualifications for Chief Medical Officer, so it's likely to be someone from outside."

Tasha scowled. "I don't _want_ a stranger looking after Myrna. I'm afraid they'll just think of her as the android kid."

Dr. Crusher smiled. "I'll make sure there's an extensive report on her, emphasizing that despite her android father, she's absolutely human," she promised.

Suddenly Tasha was crying. "I'm scared, doc. I so much want her to grow up happily... but I don't know how to do that. And people will just stare at her eyes, and the other children will tease her... And I'm so tired... And now you're leaving, too..."

Dr. Crusher embraced mother and daughter in one big comforting hug as far as the bioregenerator allowed. "I know, Tasha. It's perfectly normal to feel that way. And all you really can do is love her. Very much."

Tasha pulled her close. Too close apparently for Myrna's comfort, for the child made some small protesting sounds in her sleep.

Dr. Crusher chuckled softly, and pulled away a little to grant the kid some breathing space. "Now _there_ is one good reason to occasionally let someone else hold your baby: I can't even give you a decent hug with her in between."

Tasha laughed through her tears, and let go of her.

"And as for the bullying..." Dr. Crusher immediately turned serious again. "I've had to go through that with Wesley, too. It hurts the parent almost as much as it hurts the child – perhaps even more. But with Myrna being practically identical to you, and seeing how _you_ turned out after such a bad childhood, I'm pretty sure she'll be able to handle some bullying because of her yellow eyes."

A sigh from Tasha. "Perhaps she could even wear tinted contact lenses when she's a little older."

"If it'd really bother her, yes. But I think she's got one major advantage growing up in a small community like the Enterprise: the people here will soon get used to her. Just like they don't give Worf's forehead and Selar's ears another glance anymore. And as for the children: at least the kids here on board are regularly confronted with strange looking alien ambassadors and such. Compared to those, mere yellow eyes might look relatively normal. And I understand from Wesley that most of the kids greatly admire Data, so being Data's daughter might even give her some status among her peers."

"You think so?"

"It's certainly a possibility." She smiled. "Hey, I know that worrying is a mother's prerogative. But try not to worry too much about things that may never happen, okay?"

"I know." Tasha sighed. "But I just can't stop thinking."

"Then how about a very mild sedative: enough to give you some shut-eye, but light enough to keep you aware of Myrna's every stir."

Tasha nodded. "Sounds like heaven. I'm so tired, I could sleep for days."

So a hypospray later, the doctor wished her goodnight and left them alone.

But at the door she turned back. "And just for the record, Miss Yar: you do have a living relative now. You've got a daughter."


	20. Taking care of Myrna

For Tasha, the universe was now comprised of her child, herself, and her two room cabin. _Nothing_ mattered but Myrna.

When she had left sickbay – physically fully recovered plus a few extra pounds – she had asked Data to bring the basic necessities for taking care of Myrna to her quarters. Especially this first day and night on their own, she had wanted to keep Myrna with her.

Data had readily complied as he always did.

That was nearly a week ago. Christmas had come and gone, and little Myrna still hadn't seen the nursery her mother had prepared for her with so much care. She slept in her mother's arms or in her mother's bed, and no one but her mother got to hold her, feed her, change her, bathe her, rock her, play with her, smile at her, look at her or touch her. Visitors were scarce, since all Tasha's friends had come to admire her new baby when she was still in sickbay, so Tasha had little to distract her from doting on her daughter.

And she loved every minute of it. Myrna slept far less than she had expected, and they were both utterly fascinated by the other's face. They could just look at one another for hours on end, and otherwise there were endless little games the devoted mother could play with her daughter. And even as she slept, all Tasha did was gaze at her.

Data was the only one who came around every day, and he came in quite handy as an errand-boy. But that was all he ever got to do; the baby was hers, and she wouldn't let _anyone_ come between her and her daughter.

But on the night after Christmas, she got another visitor.

"Come," she called as the doorchime sounded.

And there was Dr. Crusher. "Hello Tasha."

"Hi doc."

Slowly, the doctor came in and sat down next to her. And watched mother and daughter for a few minutes in silence. "How is little Myrna doing?" she inquired at last.

"Fine." Tasha nuzzled her daughter. "Just fine. She's so sweet, doc."

Dr. Crusher couldn't help a smile. "She sure is." A deep breath. "Tasha, I need to talk to you."

"Mm-mm." Covering Myrna's face in soft little kisses. Was she even listening?

"It's about Myrna."

Tasha looked up, instantly alert. "What about Myrna? Is something wrong with her?"

"No. No, there's nothing wrong with her. But I had Data with me in sickbay today, to see if we could figure out how he procreates with real DNA carrying elements."

"And?"

"No luck so far. But we got talking, and... Tasha, he told me he hasn't held his daughter – or done _anything_ with her – since that one time the first morning in sickbay!"

Tasha made no reply. Instead, she let Myrna grasp her index finger.

"Tasha, she's more than a week old! I can see how much you love her, but this isn't fair to him. He _is_ the father."

Tasha sighed. "I know, but..."

"But what?"

"It's just that... I want to make sure that she's safe. And well cared for."

"And do you have reason to suspect that she won't be safe and well cared for in Data's arms?"

Tasha cringed a little. "Well... no... But after all, he is an android."

"What's that got to do with it? It never bothered you before."

Tasha realized she was going to be outmanoeuvered, but she tried anyway. "She's still so small. She needs me. And she needs to be loved. You know that Data can't love her."

Dr. Crusher shook her head. "Natasha Yar, you're not doing this for her; you're doing it for yourself. You've practically annexed your daughter because _you_ don't want anyone else to handle her. But if you keep this up, then _she_ is the one who'll go into a panic when you go back to work in a few weeks – simply because she's not used to have anyone but you take care of her. Is that what you want for her?"

Tasha bit her lip, and shook her head.

"Good. Now the preventive cure for that is very simple to arrange: just leave her with her father for a few hours a day."

Tasha gasped. "A few _hours_?"

Dr. Crusher smiled. "Well, you can build it up slowly if you like. It's going to be hard at first – most of all on you. But believe me: soon you're going to cherish those few hours to yourself. To be able to be just Tasha Yar for a while. And Tasha..." She placed her hand on Tasha's arm. "There is nothing Data wants more than to take care of his daughter. He's been looking forward to it ever since he learned he was going to be a father. I know he doesn't have any feelings, but I believe I saw a distinct hint of disappointment in him when he told me how little he had seen of her so far. Of course he would never impose upon you, but that's no excuse to exclude him. He _wants_ to be part of her life, Tasha, and as her father, he has every right to. And you needn't worry: I'm sure that in his very own way, he does love her as much as you do."

Tasha smiled involuntarily. "Yeah. I think so, too. During the entire pregnancy, he was far more devoted to her than I was."

"Exactly. Now tomorrow morning Data is off duty. And I want to get some souvenirs for friends and family back home. And I want _you_ to accompany me to the ship's store."

Tasha opened her mouth to protest, but the doctor held up her hand. "Doctor's orders, so don't bother protesting. It's for the best of both of you if you see some other people for a change. I'll come and pick you up at ten, and you better make sure you're ready by then. Meaning that you'll have left Myrna with her father by ten a.m."

Tasha hugged her little girl close. "It's just... the mere _thought_ of leaving her..."

Dr. Crusher smiled. "I know it's hard. But you've got to learn it. Both of you. You'll survive."

* * *

Data showed no surprise when she called him to ask if he could look after Myrna the following morning, and a few carefully phrased questions revealed that he was not aware of – let alone had asked for – Dr. Crusher's interference.

But when Data came around the next morning to help her bring the baby equipment he might need to his quarters, she really got the jitters.

"Data, you _will_ be careful with her, won't you?"

"Of course I will," he promised.

Tasha followed him to his quarters, with Myrna in her arms. "I've just fed her, so she should be okay for a while. I don't know exactly how long I'll be gone, but I think she won't be hungry again before I get back. But if she does, you have to order a 100 cc bottle of breast milk, thirty degrees Celsius. And make sure when you're feeding her that the teat is always filled. And don't forget to let her belch afterwards. And she likes to be rocked to sleep. And make sure her head is always properly supported. And..."

Data took her excessive advise in stride, but at last he interrupted her. "Tasha, the time for your meeting with Dr. Crusher is approaching. If you do not wish her to wait, you should leave Myrna with me now."

Tasha paled. And gulped. "Yes..." She bent down over her daughter. "Bye bye, Myrna. I have to go now, and you stay with Daddy, okay? It's alright: Mommy will be back before you know it." A tender kiss on her forehead and...

"Why are you kissing her?"

Tasha looked up to see Data's face frowned with alarm. "What do you mean?"

"Is she not far too young to engage in sexual activities?"

She laughed a little. "Data, this kind of kissing is not a sexual activity. It's a way for a parent to express his love to a child. Even you can show her that way that you love her."

"You know that I cannot love her," he pointed out.

"I know. But there's lots of things you can do with her that will make her think you do love her. And kissing her – these kind of kisses – is one of them."

Data's face brightened considerably. "That would be most convenient."

"Here. Try it." She held out Myrna to him, and hesitantly, Data pressed his lips to the soft forehead.

"See? Even if you don't feel it, you can _show_ her that she is loved."

Data attempted a smile. "I will make every effort to assure her that she is loved." Gently, he took the child out of Tasha's arms, and for a moment, Tasha was more concerned with Myrna's well-being than with leaving her out of her sight for a few hours.

"Careful," she cautioned Data.

But Data was handling her as if he'd been handling infants all his life. "I have a good hold of her. Perhaps you should go and meet Dr. Crusher now – it is nearly ten o'clock. Do not make yourself uneasy; I will take good care of her."

Tasha gulped. Again. "Yes." Another lingering kiss, a caressing of the little head... and finally she started to back away towards the door. "Call me if there's a problem," she admonished as the door hissed open behind her.

"I will," Data promised.

"And make sure you..."

"Tasha! There you are!" Dr. Crusher winked at Data. "Come on, let's go. See you later, Data. Bye, Myrna!"

The door hissed shut just as he said his, "Goodbye, doctor."

And then father and daughter were alone.

Data looked down at his daughter. And she looked up at him. "Hello Myrna," he said. "Do you remember me?"

Her eyes were fixed on his face, but there was no discernable reaction – be it affirmative or negative.

"Do you understand Federation Standard yet?"

Still no reaction.

"Then I will teach you. Language is the most commonly used tool for communication among humans. You are human, too, by the way, in case you did not know. But let me show you around and tell you what everything is called. That seems like a logical first step to begin learning a new language."

He started in the nursery. "This is your room. It is called the nursery. And this is your bed, where you are supposed to sleep. And this..."

* * *

"Now you can talk about Myrna and think about Myrna all you want, because I know she's the sole center of your universe at the moment," Dr. Crusher had said as they rode the turbolift down to the ship's store. "But there is one thing I don't want to hear a word about, and that is you fretting over whether she'll be alright in Data's custody. Understood?"

"Understood," Tasha had muttered, while frantically trying to remember whether or not she had told Data about Myrna's favourite sleeping position.

The problem – along with a dozen similar ones – completely occupied her thoughts at first, despite Dr. Crusher's attempts to divert them. Several times she wanted to call Data, but the doctor stopped her every time. "I'm sure she's fine. Surely he will call you if there's a problem he can't handle."

And when the minutes passed, and turned into a quarter of an hour, half an hour, and no emergency call came, Tasha began to relax a little. After all, even that time when they were practising in the ship's nursery had Data shown an almost innate dexterity in handling young infants. So there really was no reason to suspect that he'd be all thumbs with her – _their_ little girl.

And with an inward smile, Dr. Crusher noted how she began to show genuine interest in the available souvenirs from Starfleet, Earth, space, and the Enterprise-D. Tasha even couldn't resist to get a soft inflatable ball printed like Earth with a holographically moving atmosphere covering it, for her daughter to emphasize it being her species' home planet.

When Dr. Crusher had picked her souvenirs, they wandered over to the clothes section. For as Dr. Crusher said, "I don't know about you, but by the time Wesley was born I was so sick and tired of maternity clothes, that one of the first times I went into town after that, I got myself this really provocative outfit – just to accentuate that I wasn't pregnant anymore." She chuckled. "Jack's eyes practically popped out of their sockets when he first saw me in that. But I confess I've hardly ever worn it. Especially not outside the house. It was a little _too_ provocative."

Tasha grinned. "I doubt that any outfit will ever affect Data in that way."

"No, probably not." Dr. Crusher snickered. "But I was thinking: I've never seen you in gala dress. How about we go and play dress-up and try on some here in the store?"

Tasha raised her eyebrows. "You've seen me in dress uniform."

"I mean a _dress_. Like an evening gown."

"What would I need those for? Dress uniform is all that's required when there's something fancy on board."

"I don't mean you have to _get_ one. We're just going to play dress-up. It's the kind of clothes that make a girl feel real pretty."

Another frown. "I've never been much into being pretty." But suddenly the adventure of it caught on to her. "Okay, let's do it. No harm in trying."

So they got a holocabin and tried on a variety of classy evening gowns. And although Tasha felt awkward and out of place dressed in such finery, she had to admit that Beverly was right: these kind of clothes did make you feel pretty.

True to their game they didn't buy anything, and when they finally emerged from the store's rooms, Dr. Crusher suggested they'd go and have lunch in Ten Forward.

"I don't know..." Tasha hesitated. "Maybe I should go and check on Myrna by now."

"If Data has managed so far, he'll manage a little longer. Besides, I've heard this new hostess is someone really special. A couple of hundred years old, I've been told. And with the wisdom to go with it."

"A couple of _hundred_ years?" Tasha let herself be pulled along as she visualized a frail little old lady, wrinkly as an old shriveled apple. An image that was immediately nullified once they entered the Ten Forward lounge and were greeted from behind the bar by a friendly black lady of indeterminable age. She looked like she could be anything between thirty-five and sixty, and Tasha decided that if she was really centuries old, she couldn't possibly be human.

"You must be Guinan," Dr. Crusher said as she shook hands with the ship's new hostess.

"That is right. I hear the word of my arrival has gotten around."

"You bet. It may be a large ship, but a thousand people is still only a small community. Word travels fast. I'm Beverly Crusher, Chief Medical Officer for a few more days."

Guinan face turned a little pensive. "And the mother of... Wesley Crusher, I presume."

"That's right."

Guinan looked pleased. "Yes, I'm trying to acquaint myself with the crew as quickly as possible. It makes my work a bit easier if I'm aware of people's relationships to one another. And you," she said facing Tasha, "must be Tasha Yar."

Tasha's jaw dropped. "How did you know?"

"I met your daughter earlier this morning. Apart from the colour of her eyes, she's truly the spitting image of you."

"Data...!" Tasha scowled. "What the heck is he taking her to Ten Forward for?"

"He's giving her a guided tour of the Enterprise," Riker's voice joined in as the Commander entered the lounge. "_'Acquainting her with her new habitat'_, he calls it. He was showing her around the bridge first, but that tour got interrupted once the Captain came out of his ready room. And was not amused."

Dr. Crusher snickered softly. "'No children on my bridge!'" she mimicked with as close an approximation of Picard's stern voice as she could manage.

"I don't think she's seen much of Ten Forward either," Guinan related. "Most of the ladies in the room were constantly flocking around them, so she has certainly made a lot of new acquaintances today. But from what I saw, he did get the chance to show her how to get your opponent in 3-D chess checkmate in six moves."

Tasha groaned, but Riker laughed. "Can't start young enough, can you?"

Dr. Crusher joined in. "I wonder where else he's taken her. The science labs maybe? Engineering?"

"The holodeck?" Riker suggested, eyebrows twitching. "Wonderful place. That's where I'd start."

Tasha had heard enough. She slammed her commbadge and barked, "Yar to Data. Where the heck are you?"

"_I am showing Myrna around in the arboretum,"_ came Data's innocent voice over the commsystem. _"She shows a noticeable interest in the vegetable world."_

Tasha hid her head in her hands and moaned.

"Well, it's better than Engineering," Dr. Crusher commented.

Unfortunately, the commlink was still open, and they all heard Data's reply to the doctor's remark. _"We have just come from Engineering indeed, doctor. We have spent a full twenty-eight minutes there, for Myrna was truly fascinated by the pulsating warp core."_

"I expect you explained the principles of warp drive to her as well?"

"_Yes, Commander. However, I am uncertain as to whether she fully grasped all the details. But she is very eager to learn, and proves to be a most attentive listener."_

By now they were all positively doubled up with laughter, and even Tasha couldn't help but join in the hilarity.

"Data." Riker hiccuped helplessly. "Did you get in her application for the Academy, too, by any chance?"

"_No, sir."_ There was a short silence at the other end. _"Commander, I was not aware that one needed to apply for the Academy at so young an age?"_

"No. I just thought you intended for her to start there before the age of five."

"_I do not believe they accept students that young, Commander."_

"Never mind, Data. He's just kidding." Tasha wiped the tears of laughter out of her eyes. "I'll talk to you later. Yar out." She shook her head. "Boy, am I going to have a talk with him..."

Guinan picked up a cloth in the same purple colour as her dress, and began to wipe the spotless bar. "I wouldn't be too hard on him though," she said.

"Guinan, the kid is only nine days old! What's he doing gallivanting around the ship with her?"

"I know. But this" – she waved around her – "exposing a young infant to all kinds of sophisticated information from the very beginning was quite the rage on my home planet, too, when I had my first child. I believe it's called a proactive upbringing. It's hard to tell whether they actually do develop some sort of elementary understanding for such complex theories and applications, but as long as it's balanced by a loving home, the children will be none the worse for wear."

Tasha looked questioningly from one to the other. "Are you sure?"

Riker held up his hands. "Don't look at me. I'm no parent."

"She'll be fine," Beverly assured her. "Believe me: if she didn't enjoy being dragged all over the ship, we sure would have heard her crying in protest over the commlink. Now, what are you having for lunch?"

* * *

When Myrna shortly thereafter found herself back in the familiar arms of her mother again, she was too tired to even finish her bottle. Barely having acquiesced the worst of her appetite, she then fell asleep for a full eight hours at a stretch. With her mother lovingly keeping watch over her again after having braved their first hours of separation.

* * *

.

_A/N: For weeks,__ I've been trying to tell the second half of the chapter by following Data on his guided tour, but I just couldn't get it to work. I hope this will satisfy your curiosity nonetheless. But you might have to read a little between the lines to realize all the implied adventures of his guided tour.  
_

_The next chapter will see the arrival of Dr. Pulaski, as well as an unexpected friend for Myrna. Don't get your hopes up too high though – I haven't even started on it... _

_First let's see if we can hit the 100 reviews with this chapter already, or if it's going to have to wait till next time. You guys are great – I love getting reviews, and as you may have noticed, they do indeed inspire me, and help me to improve my writing. So please keep them coming! _


	21. Daddy Data and his daughter Myrna

Things actually resolved themselves quite naturally in the days following. Unwilling to let her little daughter ultimately become the victim of her own overprotective and monopolizing attitude, Tasha forced herself to arrange with Data that Myrna would be with him for a few hours a day at whatever time he was off duty. And so it happened.

Not quite knowing what to do with herself without her daughter the next day, Tasha sought her solace in the one place she knew where one could let one's mind go blank: the gym.

The effects were instantaneous. The sight, the smell, the sounds of the gym suddenly brought back memories from her life before she had Myrna – a long, long time ago. A time when a thorough work-out wasn't so much a case of must required for her job, but a source of joy. Of challenge. Pride even. Competing against herself or against others – when was the last time she'd done something like that? And now that Myrna's bulk wasn't weighing her down anymore, impairing her movement...

She took a deep breath. And felt her heartbeat quicken with anticipation. Sure, Dr. Crusher had admonished her to start off easy on her training. But she was seriously out of shape, and in order to get all her responsibilities in security back, she needed to be in excellent form. So she'd better get shaped up – she'd be going back on duty in about a month!

* * *

Happily exhausted, her hair still wet from the luxurious aquatic shower she'd allowed herself, she went over to Data's quarters a few hours later and entered at his, "Come." And found him on the green sofa, feeding her – no, _their_ Myrna.

"Hello Tasha," he greeted her.

"Hi." Tasha fell down beside him and placed a loving kiss on Myrna's head. "Hi Myrna. Have you been good while I was away?"

Myrna just kept drinking, but her eyes now darted to her mother's face.

"Yes, she has been good," Data answered for her. "But I do not believe she has found the power of coherent speech yet. By continuously talking to her, I am hoping she will soon begin to discern the necessary grammatical and idiomatic patterns that will enable her to communicate with us in a more efficient manner than the inarticulate whimpering and crying she uses at present to express her discomfort or displeasure, left to our discretion to interpret."

Tasha couldn't help a grin. "You can talk to her all you want, but I don't think most children learn to talk properly in their first year."

Data raised his eyebrows in surprise. "They do not?"

"Nope. A few words maybe, or some incomprehensible jabber. But that's about it."

Data's face fell. "That would be most unfortunate indeed. How can we provide for her needs when her mode of communication is so incompatible with ours? Such can only lead to a multitude of misunderstandings that is bound to leave her very frustrated. It does not seem to be an effective way of upbringing."

"Data." She smiled, and was tempted to put a comforting arm around her dejected looking co-parent. "We'll manage. All parents do. None of the humans here on board was able to communicate with their parents in the beginning, and they all turned out alright, didn't they? And so will Myrna, I'm sure."

"Perhaps I should not talk to her then until she is able to communicate properly."

"Nah. I think she's learning a lot from your talks – it just takes time to sort it all out. Don't forget that she's starting from scratch."

"Scratch?" With a hint of worry, Data inspected Myrna's hands and head. "She has no scratch."

Tasha sighed and leaned back. "Idiom, Data. Meaning she has no frame of reference yet to which she can refer what you're telling her."

"Ah. _To start from scratch._ Another colloquialism."

"Yes. So you better keep talking to her, for logically, that should help her to build up her frame of reference."

"I will then." He tilted his head. "Intriguing. It should be a most interesting study to see how understanding and speech develop in correlation to one another when both are 'starting from scratch'. Presumably, her understanding should develop at a faster rate than her ability to express herself, for I have often noted that humans have a tendency to understand concepts some time prior to being able to apply them correctly by themselves. And it would also..."

"Data, the bottle."

"The bottle? Oh!" His looming soliloquy interrupted, he noticed that Myrna had finished her meal.

With some envy, Tasha noticed the ease with which he put down the bottle and manoeuvered Myrna into an upright position against his shoulder to let her belch. If she didn't know any better, she'd have thought he'd been around young infants all his life. It all looked so natural, the way he handled her. "Born to be a father," she thought, only to smirk as she recalled that he hadn't been born at all.

She watched as he gently lowered her again and wiped away the spit and the dribble from her little chin. "Would you like to have her again?" he then asked Tasha.

"I thought you'd never ask."

So Data bent down over his daughter and kissed her softly on the forehead – as Tasha had shown him the day before. "Bye bye, Myrna. It is time to go to Mummy again."

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to stay here a little longer," Tasha said as he placed their daughter into her waiting arms.

"Of course I do not mind. You are welcome to stay here as long as you wish." He watched as she turned to lie down on the couch with Myrna on her chest. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yeah." A tired sigh.

"Good. Then I will be at my computer. I have some work to do."

With that, Tasha and Myrna were left to themselves, and exhausted as they both were – one from her father's overstimulation, the other from physical exercise – they soon dozed off together.

In the other room, Data steadily worked on his research for an hour or two, in the meantime well aware of the duet of calm breathing in the nursery that indicated both mother and daughter to be sound asleep.

Until his ears picked up a soft whimper – telltale that Myrna had woken up and wanted something.

Quickly, he crossed the room and bent down over her. "What is the matter, Myrna?" he whispered.

The whimpering only got louder in return.

Data glanced at Tasha, but she was solidly asleep. He had better take care of this himself then, before Myrna would wake her up.

Carefully, he extricated Myrna from Tasha's embrace, and lifted her off her mother's chest. The whimpering promptly went up several more decibels, and he quickly attempted to hush her. "Ssh. Daddy is here. What is the problem? Are you hungry again? Did you wet yourself? Did you have a bad dream perhaps? Or are you in pain?"

Behind them however, Tasha's mind quickly drifted back to consciousness as she became aware that her daughter had been taken away from her. But before she jerked upright in alarm, she heard Myrna's whimpering and Data's soothing sounds, and she realized he was only trying to be gallant by allowing her to sleep.

She stifled a little smile. Well, why not? It'd be interesting to spy a little on... no, _to observe_ how Data behaved around his daughter when he thought himself unobserved.

Carefully maintaining her face neutral, she peered through her eyelashes. Data just laid down his daughter on the table as he said, "I detect a distinct scent of wet diaper. I shall give you a clean one first. Perhaps that will settle your uneasiness." He deftly set out to change the diaper, and Tasha could hear him sing a soft lullaby to quiet Myrna. The words sounded vaguely familiar, but it was gibberish to her nonetheless.

The changing of the diaper was done incredibly fast – at least twice as fast as she could, if not faster. Myrna kept on whimpering all the time, but once he was done, picked her up and kissed her, she was quiet.

"Would you like to join me in my research?" Tasha heard him ask his daughter. "I am presently working on a project in astrophysics, and I have come across a particularly interesting essay by Dr. T'Pura. She is a Vulcan, from the planet Vulcan. That is a planet currently located 602,761.442785 lightyears from here, and it was one of the founding members of the Federation. It has a hot, arid climate, and its gravity is slightly higher than the Terran standard here on the Enterprise.

"The people from Vulcan are humanoid, although there are some distinct differences between Vulcan and Terran humanoids. For example, a Vulcan's blood is based on copper, and therefore it has a bright green colour, as opposed to the iron-based blood in Terrans, which accounts for its red colour. This is the cause of the slight difference in the hue in skin tone as well.

"Another notable Vulcan feature are their pointed ears, and their tilted eyebrows. The Romulans share these features; they originate from the planet Vulcan as well, but went their separate way about two thousand years ago. At that time, a Vulcan philosopher named Surak led his people to reject their passion and their violent emotions that had been the cause of many gruesome wars, in favour of a philosophy that embraced pure logic. Nowadays, trappings of emotion are considered to be in extremely poor taste on Vulcan, and their society is based entirely on logic and on the motto 'infinite diversity in infinite combinations', usually abbreviated as IDIC. This combination of logic and appreciation of differences makes the Vulcan people to be one of the most open-minded species in the galaxy when it comes to the acceptance of alien life forms. I would strongly recommend that – besides your likely training in Starfleet Academy – you take a degree at the famous Vulcan Academy as well. I am sure the experience will prove highly beneficial in your further dealings with other life forms. And when you meet a Vulcan, you have to hold up your hand like this..."

A pause in which it seemed he was positioning Myrna's shrimpfingers in the Vulcan salute. "Yes. Like that. And then you say, 'Live long and prosper.' And the reply is, 'Peace and long life.' I can teach you to say it in the Vulcan language, too, if you prefer."

Tasha couldn't quite quench her grin.

"For I have observed that the courtesy of seriously attempting to greet others in their own native language is generally highly appreciated among humanoids. But I think your first lesson in the Vulcan language can wait till you have learned to speak. The song I sang to you before is in the Vulcan language, too, by the way. I think it is important that you will learn to appreciate that Federation Standard is not the only language in use in the universe.

"But let us study Dr. T'Pura's hypotheses first. I think you will find them extremely interesting. For your benefit, I will begin reading her essay out loud to you from the beginning."

For a while, Tasha listened to Data reciting Dr. T'Pura's scientific gibberish. Astrophysics wasn't anywhere near her field of expertise, and Data's research was at such a level that she understood only the mere basics of Dr. T'Pura's report. But she had a good view of Myrna in the crook of her father's arm, and it was obvious that the little girl was drinking in his every word.

And she smiled. Fair is fair: it happened far too often that Data's extensive deliveries of useful information got cut off or interrupted because he simply couldn't draw the line between 'useful' and 'required' information. In Myrna, he had finally found an attentive listener who didn't object to his many details and detours, and who was simply enraptured by whatever he chose to tell her.

Or who at least gave him that impression.

She wondered briefly how long Myrna's apparent dedicated interest would last. Surely she'd develop her own, more age appropriate interests in time, and would lose patience with her father's PhD level lectures.

Poor Data. Better let him enjoy her seemingly enraptured interest for as long as possible...

Still, when he was through with Dr. T'Pura's essay, she couldn't resist teasing him a little. "Data?" she called out.

Data looked up. "Yes, Tasha? Did you have a good nap?"

"Sure. But I was listening to your reading, and I must admit I feel rather stupid next to the two of you. You're both so scientifically advanced – I'm beginning to feel left out." She grinned. "Could you perhaps read something for me now, too? Something _I_ understand? _Stella the Starship_, for example. I like that one. Or maybe something from Dr. Seuss?"

Data nodded. "Of course I can. But I am not acquainted with the works of Dr. Seuss. I will look them up for you. Has he published on matters of security perhaps?"

* * *

.

_Author's Note: Sorry, Dr. Pulaski and Ian will have to wait till next time. The above was meant as a little introductory scene to their chapter, but I should have realized that Data isn't exactly known for being concise. So the little scene just expanded and expanded, and turned into a chapter all by itself. Hope you don't mind? _

_The information on Vulcan comes from _The Reference Guide to the Future_, 1994 edition, and from Jean Lorrah's _The Vulcan Academy Murders _and_ The IDIC Epidemic_, as well as from a few TOS episodes._

_And finally I'd like to thank you all for your generous reviews. They're a joy__ – it's always interesting to read and reflect on your comments! And here I was, hoping to hit the magical 100, and you people shower me with so many that we went far beyond that number _:-)_ Thank you! _


	22. A friend for Myrna, part 1

"Hello Tasha. Hello Myrna," Data greeted as he entered Tasha's quarters to come and pick up his daughter.

"Hi," Tasha answered, and Myrna, too, produced a happy little sound. She was beginning to show much more awareness of her surroundings lately, and what pleased Tasha the most was her display of happiness upon encountering the parent she hadn't seen for a few hours. And she did it both with Data and with her, which only reinforced the impression that – despite Data's occasionally unorthodox way of treating her – she was as content to be in his company as in hers.

Data picked up Myrna and in a sweeping gesture lifted her high above his head.

"Hey, careful!" Tasha warned in immediate alarm.

But little Myrna crowed with delight, and Data remarked that she certainly seemed to enjoy the experience. "And I do not believe there is much cause for worry. I am sure you agree that she is not as fragile anymore as she was at first."

"Alright, alright. Just make sure you don't drop her, okay?"

"Of course I will not drop her."

Tasha smirked, and grabbed her towel. "Well, have fun together then. But Data: no circus acts, understood? I prefer to keep her in one piece."

"In the unlikely event that she should suffer an accident that would cause her to fall to pieces," Data deadpanned without a trace of irony, "there would at least be a complete medical staff at her disposal again to put her back together."

"Well, I'd rather not risk it." A kiss on Myrna's forehead, and... "Wait. A _complete_ medical staff, you say? Has the new doctor arrived?"

"Affirmative."

"Well? What's she like?" It hadn't been easy to say goodbye to Dr. Crusher, who during her past hardships of pregnancy had served as much as a friend and confidant, as well as her doctor. And to be honest, Tasha had been nursing silent hopes to be able to build a similar rapport with the new doctor.

Data's information however didn't divulge many useful facts. "She is a human female named Katherine Jane Pulaski, age 46.721 earth years. She is 161.42 centimeters tall, and weighs approximately 71 kilograms."

Tasha rolled her eyes. "I mean, did she seem like a nice person?"

"She did not display any malevolent tendencies in my presence."

"Right." Tasha sighed. Clearly she'd have to form her own opinion on the new doctor upon acquaintance. "See you later then. Bye Myrna!" And off she went to the gym.

* * *

In the gym she found Wesley, jogging away on one of the walking machines. "Hi Wes."

He glanced aside. "Hi. How is Myrna?"

Tasha grimaced. "Funny how everyone I meet asks how Myrna is doing, yet nobody seems to bother about _me_ anymore."

Wesley's face flushed with an embarrassed red. "I'm sorry. I... I didn't realize..."

She waved his apologies away. "No need to feel bad about it. It was just an observation – about _everyone_, not just you. And I really don't mind, so..."

Wesley had an awkward grin. "Okay then. So how are _you _doing?"

"Fine. Going back to work next week."

"I bet you're happy about that, aren't you?"

Tasha heaved a sigh. "I don't know." She turned on the walking machine next to Wesley's and took off at a brisk jog.

Wesley gave her a surprised glance. "I thought you hated having to quit your work because of Myrna?"

"I know. And I did. But taking care of her is a lot more fun than I thought it would be."

Wesley slowed down his tempo. "Have you heard the news by the way? Myrna is going to have a playmate soon: Counselor Troi is going to have a baby tomorrow."

"What!" Tasha halted her run so abruptly that the walking machine missed a beat, and only an emergency jump saved her from being propelled halfway across the hall. "You're kidding, right? You're not," she answered herself upon seeing his serious demeanor. "But... _tomorrow_? I saw her just a few days ago – there was nothing the matter with her!"

"I know. She only got impregnated last night."

"Last _night_? By whom?" Tasha demanded.

"I don't know. Some alien entity. But the baby is a male clone of Counselor Troi: half human, half Betazoid." He shrugged. "I don't know all the details – I wasn't at the meeting."

"So she got pregnant last night, and she's going to have her baby _tomorrow_, you say?"

"Yes. Apparently, he's growing incredibly fast. Dr. Pulaski reckons that at this rate, he'll be born by tomorrow evening."

Tasha slowly shook her head. "Poor Deanna," she breathed. "Imagine being told that you're going to have a baby in a mere two days' time..."

* * *

Much sooner than she had intended, she hit the showers, and shortly afterwards rang the doorchime at Deanna's quarters.

"Come."

She saw Deanna turning away from the computer screen as the door hissed open. "Hi." She hesitated. "I hope I'm not disturbing you?"

Deanna sighed. "No, not really. I'm trying to muster up the courage to call my mother to tell her what's going on. But somehow I can find neither the courage nor the words." She looked up. "I assume you heard?"

Tasha nodded. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Never better."

Tasha came in. "I mean, how are you handling it? I mean, if they told _me_ I was going to have a baby the next day..."

Deanna smirked. "Are you taking over my job?" She leaned back in her chair and placed her hand on the ever so slight bump of her belly. "Well, at least I've always wanted to have children. But it is a bit sudden, yes. I don't really know what to think. But I'm certainly enjoying the experience." She had a broad smile. "I can already feel him moving inside me."

"I know! That's such an amazing feeling!" Tasha fell down on the couch. "The idea that you can feel there's an independent little being inside you, moving about at his own will!" She grimaced. "Mind you, those gentle movements soon develop into plain vicious kicking. Even sooner in your case of course. Don't count on getting any sleep tonight."

"I wasn't." Deanna nodded to the computer. "I've just been going through the facts on Betazoid pregnancies. If this is going to continue as an accelerated 'ordinary' pregnancy, he's going to grow considerably during the night, and reach half his birthweight by tomorrow morning. I don't think there's much chance of sleeping through that either." Suddenly, she hid her face in her hands. "Oh my, it_ is_ scary, isn't it..."

Tasha was across the room in three bouncing steps and took the trembling counselor in her arms. All of a sudden there was no trace of the high and mighty, 'always in control' Counselor Troi. Instead, she was just a fellow mother – or mother-to-be – and as scared of the ad hoc alteration of her future and of all the unnerving new processes taking place in her body as she herself had been at the time.

"I know it's scary, yes," Tasha said quietly as she hugged her tight. "Even more so when it's going so fast, I imagine. But if there's _anyone_ I'd trust to be able to handle instant motherhood, it's you. You're so calm and collected. I'm sure you can do it."

Deanna had grasped Tasha's arms for strength, and wiped away a stray tear. "I wish I had so much confidence in myself..."

"You'll be fine," Tasha assured her. "Once the time has come, you'll find that it's all quite natural. And if_ I_ can be turned into a doting mother at the first sight of my baby, I'm sure you will, too."

"But to think that by this time tomorrow, I'll be almost going into labour...!" She shuddered, and looked up at Tasha with big, frightened eyes. "Tell me, _truthfully_: does it hurt? I mean, _really_ hurt?"

Tasha grimaced. "If you do it my way – all by yourself – yes, then it hurts like hell. But if you manage to keep your wits together sufficiently to get to sickbay, then there's all kinds of stuff they can give you to practically eliminate the pain. Dr. Crusher told me all about it at the time. I suppose that would simply leave you with a mere very uncomfortable feeling as you push him out."

A quavering sigh. "Well, I suppose that if I really want to have this baby, I'm just going to have to bite on the bullet."

"Exactly. I'm sure you can do it. And at least you'll be fit when it's time to deliver your baby – you won't be exhausted from months of backaches and lack of sleep and not being able to get comfortable no matter what you try." She gave her an encouraging little squeeze. "You know I even envy you a little for that?"

Deanna smiled through her tears. "I can imagine that." A grateful squeeze in return; then Deanna let go of her. "Thanks, Tasha. I believe that was just what I needed."

"Any time." Tasha smiled. "And since I remember all too well what a trial a long sleepless night with a baby-belly can be, you are welcome to call me during the night as well, if you like. Since it's only going to be one night anyway, I won't mind – I'd be more than happy to oblige. And believe me: a sleepless night is far more bearable when you have someone to talk to." Her smile turned into a grin. "You wouldn't believe how many nights I spent in Data's quarters at the time! Fortunately, he didn't mind either, since he doesn't sleep. But it sure left me wondering how 'ordinary' couples deal with it."

* * *

Deanna didn't take her up on her offer until it was nearly morning. And Tasha couldn't help but stare as she entered: the barely noticeable bump from some twelve hours ago had grown out to the perfect round curve of a fairly advanced pregnancy.

Deanna heaved a sigh. "I know. Especially the past hour or so, I can almost _feel_ him growing. It's unnerving."

Tasha gulped. "Well, I suppose you could be grateful they didn't impregnate you with twins..."

Deanna shuddered. "No, thanks. This one is causing more than enough commotion."

They kept talking baby-talk for a few hours curled up on the couch together, and Deanna fed Myrna her bottle. And when she left at eight o'clock to begin her shift on the bridge (_"Do you really think that's a good idea?" "Well, why not? There is nothing wrong with me, is there?"_), Tasha had to forcibly remind herself that it was _not_ likely to be just her imagination – Deanna's baby-belly really had grown considerably in the few hours she had been with her...

* * *

It was Data who happened upon the distressed Deanna Troi that evening as she tried to make it to sickbay for the delivery of her baby.

"Data... Can you please help me get to sickbay?"

"Of course." Data took her hand, and put his arm around her back for support as he helped her down the corridor towards sickbay.

"It's time!" Deanna panted as Data led her into the new doctor's office.

"You bet it is!" A smiling Dr. Pulaski got up and immediately took over Data's support. "Let's get you to maternity."

Data touched his communicator. "Data to Worf. Please assemble your security team in sickbay."

Dr. Pulaski glanced up at him with an accusatory glare. "Is that necessary?"

"Yes, doctor. Captain's orders," Data explained by way of apology.

"Well, it's strange to need armed guards in the delivery room," she retorted.

Deanna's moan made the two aware of the more urgent matters at stake, and together, the doctor and the android helped the panting counselor into the ward and onto the delivery chair.

"How frequent are your contractions?"

"Very close together," Deanna managed to get out.

The doctor smiled. "Now in my other deliveries – except for a couple – the father was always present."

Deanna even laughed a little. "Difficult under the circumstances."

Data cocked his head. "Perhaps I could serve in that capacity?" he offered.

But the new doctor was very firm – and very put-offish – in her answer. "Counselor Troi is going to need the comfort of a human touch; not the cold hand of technology."

Even in her present distress, the counselor in Deanna instinctively diffused the impending argument before it had a chance to start. "Doctor, I think Commander Data will do very nicely."

It was the doctor's turn to cock her head and raise her eyebrows. "Your choice," was all she said, but it was clear that she had her own opinion on that choice.

"And a logical choice, too," Data pointed out. "After all, I do have recent experience in assisting at such an event."

"Do you now?" The incredulity in the doctor's expression was so evident that not even Data could miss it.

"Indeed I do, doctor. A mere six weeks and five days ago, I was present at the final stages of the birth of my own daughter."

Dr. Pulaski's jaw dropped, and the ever curious Data bent forward to examine the odd facial expression this produced. "Doctor, do you perhaps suffer from a condition that affects your control over the muscles in your jaw?"

Dr. Pulaski immediately snapped her mouth shut. And did it so forcefully that her teeth rattled. "You... _you_ have a _daughter_?" she brought out.

"Yes, doctor."

"As in a living breathing baby? Born just like a human?"

"Affirmative. She is indeed fully human. For 99.9735 percent she is a clone of her mother, although through some hitherto unexplained twist of nature, she has inherited my eye colour. I presume you have not found the time to acquaint yourself with all the crew's medical files yet? Your predecessor Dr. Crusher has left an extensive report on her."

Dr. Pulaski blinked. "But... you're a robot! Who'd be so crazy as to have a child with a robot!"

"Correction, doctor: I am an android; not a robot. And although Lieutenant Yar was indeed under the hibernating influence of the Tsiolkovsky virus at the time of our daughter's conception, she would most definitely not hold the position of Chief of Security on this ship if there was any probability of her being of unsound mind. It was an unfortunate – or perhaps I should say, 'fortunate' – concurrence of circumstances that led to the accidental conception of our daughter."

The doctor snorted in scorn. "That's what you men always say: 'it was an accident'. Well, let me tell you, Mr. Data..."

There was the sound of hoarse panting behind them. "It's happening!" Deanna cried.

"What? So fast?" The doctor hurried away to fetch her equipment.

Meanwhile, Data gently squeezed Deanna's hand. "Are you alright, Counselor?"

"Data!"

"Yes?"

"_Now!"_

"Now? Now. Now! Doctor. Doctor! _Doctor!_"

* * *

It was but half an hour later that Data dropped by Tasha's quarters. "I thought you might like to know: Counselor Troi has delivered her baby."

Tasha jumped up. "How is she doing? Is the baby alright?"

"She seems to be doing fine. And according to Dr. Pulaski, the baby is just a baby."

Tasha practically beamed. "That's good to hear. Data, can you stay here with Myrna for a moment, please? I want to go and see her right now. Meet this baby of hers."

Data frowned. "I am still on duty. I have to..."

"I know, I know. I'll be very quick. A few minutes won't make that much difference, will they?"

Data contemplated this for a moment. "If it is just a few minutes, I suppose I can justify a delay in returning to my duties."

Tasha was already out the door. "Back in five!" she called over her shoulder, leaving Data to ponder that colloquialism for its meaning.

A moment later, she burst into sickbay, and immediately noticed Deanna with the baby in her arms. Will Riker was hovering nearby.

"Deanna?"

"Tasha! Come and meet Ian!"

Tasha approached them, and peeked at the little bundle in Deanna's arms. "He's beautiful," she whispered. "Congratulations, Deanna."

"Of course he's beautiful," Riker pouted. "How could he be otherwise? He's the spitting image of his mother!"

Tasha chuckled. "Don't you give me that 'proud-young-father'-act, Will Riker. You know as well as I do that you had absolutely nothing to do with him being conceived."

Riker merely grinned in reply, and Tasha turned back to the radiant new mother. "And how are you feeling? How did it go?"

"Fine," Deanna replied. "It was much easier than I had expected. I've felt no pain at all."

Tasha's eyebrows disappeared under her fringe in surprise. "No pain at all?"

"None. It was..."

But Tasha shook her head. "I'm sorry, Deanna, but I can't stay long enough now to hear all the details. Data is watching Myrna for me, but since he's _supposed_ to be on duty... But I really wanted to see your baby right away. So how about I come and visit you and little Ian properly around lunchtime tomorrow? And I'll bring Myrna, too, so the two of them can get acquainted. And then I want to hear _everything_!"

Deanna grinned. "Can't start early enough with matchmaking, can we? I'll see you tomorrow then; I'll probably be back in my quarters by then."

Tasha raised her eyebrows. "Already? So quickly? No!" She chuckled, and held out her hands. "Tell me tomorrow – _don't_ tell me now; I've got to run. But Deanna: congratulations on your sweet little baby-boy, and I hope he's going to make you _very_ happy. And I'm really happy for you that it all worked out so well. See you tomorrow lunchtime then!"

.

_To be continued..._

* * *

.

_Author's note: Whoa... One mention of how much I enjoy reading and reflecting on your comments, and the next thing I know I get showered by them? ! Thank you all so much! _

_And credit where credit is due: much of the scene on Deanna going into labour is borrowed literally from the TNG episode _The Child_, written by Jaron Summers, Jon Povill and Maurice Hurley. As is of course the entire basic story about Deanna being impregnated by an alien entity._


	23. A friend for Myrna, part 2

All of a sudden Tasha froze. What on earth was she doing?

Myrna – sensing her mother's change of mood – stopped sucking her fingers for a moment and looked up at her with big inquiring eyes. Almost as if asking, "What is wrong, Mummy?" Tasha thought.

She heaved a sigh. "Your Mummy is a fool. That's what's wrong," she answered her daughter's unspoken question.

Myrna just kept her bright yellow eyes locked with her mother's, and Tasha shook her head. "The _last_ thing I'd want to impress upon you is that you should make yourself look pretty for a man. Never. _Ever_. And here I am: dressing you up for your first visit to Ian." She lifted Myrna up in her arms and slowly walked over to the window. The void outside always helped her think. And she needed to do some serious thinking right now.

After all, Myrna was growing up on the virtually crimefree Enterprise; not in the hellhole of Turkana IV. (She'd rather tie her up and lock her in a closet than let her daughter set foot on that godforsaken planet.) So was it fair to... was it _necessary_ to instill in her daughter the same extreme wariness of the opposite sex as she herself had developed in her youth on Turkana?

Here on the Enterprise, a woman could dress as provocative as she wanted, yet no man would lay a hand on her if she told them not to – she'd observed it often enough in Ten Forward. Not that she'd want Myrna to grow up to be a seductive slut – rather the opposite – but as long as they were in the relatively secure world of Starfleet, was there really any harm in letting her develop as a "normal" girl? Occasionally dressed in pretty dresses, with bows in her hair? The other women on board seemed to be none the worse for wear with a normal girl's childhood in the background. And even the most feminine among them could move around safely on board. Without every male throwing themselves at them.

She placed a loving kiss on Myrna's head. "I don't know, sweetie. I don't want you to grow up in fear of boys and men like I did. But I can't let you grow up trusting men implicitly either. So how far should I go in letting you be the girl that you are?"

Myrna dribbled in reply, and Tasha quickly wiped it away.

"Now let me give you a little advice. I know your father is always pumping all kinds of scientific stuff into your head, but I think this is a bit more important. Myrna: girls can do _anything_ boys can. There's no reason to back out of something just because you're a girl. But there is one area in which girls are especially vulnerable – far more vulnerable than boys – and that is sex. Men often think with their hormones, and as a girl, it's best not to provoke those. For your own good. So I suppose dressing up should be okay here on board, as long as it's not too revealing or provocative." She grimaced. "Well, I suppose you'll be fine today with Ian. Your outfit is neither revealing nor provocative, and after all, Ian isn't even a day old yet."

* * *

"Come," Deanna called.

The door to the Counselor's private quarters slid open, and Tasha froze – for the second time that day – at the sight that greeted her. At the table sat a darkhaired boy of some six years old...

"Hello Tasha," Deanna greeted – conspicuously obvious in trying to pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary.

The boy looked up from his modelling clay. "Hi." He was indeed the spitting image of Deanna.

Tasha's mouth opened and closed as if she were a fish out of the water. "Is that...?"

Deanna walked over and gently guided her into the room. "He's been growing even faster now that he's born," she explained under her breath. "At the rate he's going, he's going to reach adulthood by tomorrow evening."

Tasha gulped. "How come?"

A shrug. "I don't know. I mean, his entire existence is rather – unusual. I can sense that he is here for a reason. But he doesn't have the vocabulary yet to tell us what that might be."

She led Tasha further into the room. "Ian, I'd like you to meet Tasha Yar, and her daughter Myrna."

Ian had a bright smile – Deanna's smile. "Is that a _real_ baby? Oh, can I hold it? _Please_?"

Tasha looked doubtful, but Deanna said, "Only if you let Tasha help you, and do exactly as she says. For Myrna is not a doll. And go and wash your hands first – you've got clay all over them."

As Ian dashed off to the bathroom, Tasha muttered, "I'm not sure this is such a good idea..." After all, a one-day-old baby would be pretty harmless. But the things a six-year-old boy could do to a little baby girl were... well, unimaginable.

"He's very gentle," Deanna reassured her. "I don't know why, but he wants to touch and feel literally everything he comes across. But don't worry, we're not leaving him alone with her."

"You bet we won't!" Tasha agreed emphatically.

And there was Ian back.

"Now sit on the couch with your back all the way up against the back of the couch."

Ian did as he was told, and Deanna showed him how to hold his arms. And then – oh so reluctantly – Tasha placed her daughter in the waiting boy's arms.

Her mind screamed it was wrong – wrong! But with the utmost self-discipline, she managed to merely hover at less than an arm's length from the two kids, primed to snatch her daughter out of the boy's hands at the first hint of abuse.

But all Ian did was coo at her and stroke her head, while Myrna studied his face with the same grave interest she regarded any new acquaintance of hers.

"She's really soft," Ian commented. "And look at her fingers, Mummy – they're so tiny!"

"They are, aren't they? And yours were just as tiny when you were just born."

"So hers will grow, too, as she gets older?"

"Of course. Everyone grows as they get older."

"Until, when you're really old, you're all giants, as big as... as..." Ian fell silent, unable to find a suitable comparison.

"No." Deanna smiled. "Once you're a grown-up, an adult, you won't grow any further. You've met Captain Picard this morning. He's about twenty-five years older than Tasha and me. But we're all about the same height."

"Yeah, that's right." Ian looked pensive. "So you're really small when you're born, and when you get older, you grow till you're an adult. When is that?"

"When you're about eighteen, twenty years old."

Ian pulled a face. "That's awfully long to be small." He patted Myrna on the cheek. "Poor Myrna. Having to wait so long."'

"Sweetheart, I think it's time to give her back to her mother now." Deanna couldn't help sensing how edgy it made Tasha to see her little girl in Ian's arms.

Ian readily complied. "Bye Myrna." Thus covering Tasha's not so silent sigh of relief.

As Ian returned to his modelling clay, the two women took his place on the sofa.

"So what's the story?" Tasha asked.

And Deanna related how already yesterday evening she had noticed how quickly Ian kept growing. "He outgrows his clothes about every hour. And he develops so incredibly fast, that I don't believe I actually have any influence on his development."

Tasha glanced over at Ian. The boy was wiggling his tooth, and suddenly he turned towards them. "Look Mummy, another tooth came out."

"See what I mean?" Deanna hissed. "That's the third one in the past hour. And the new ones are practically full-grown already." She got Ian a glass of water to rinse the blood out of his mouth, and had the obligatory parental look at the new gap.

When she sat down again, she said softly, "The worst is that in a few days' time, he'll be older than I am. And he'll be dying of old age by next week! I can't _bear_ to think that I'm going to lose him so soon..."

Tasha merely nodded. She, too, occasionally thought about how it would be if Myrna were to die. It wasn't a thought she enjoyed entertaining. "It's part of being a parent, I guess. Being afraid to lose your child, I mean."

"Love always comes with the fear of losing the loved one," Deanna agreed. She sighed. "Ever since I realized how short he's probably going to be with me, I've tried to put some distance between us. For self-protection. But I just can't." Another sigh as she looked at Tasha. "They teach you all about a mother's love when you're studying psychology. But they certainly don't get across how intense that feeling is. How overwhelming."

Tasha nodded. "It scared me at first, so overwhelming it was," she admitted, looking down at Myrna with a smile. "But I don't think I'd ever want to lose that feeling now."

Tasha's communicator chirped before Deanna could make an answer. _"Data to Lt. Yar."_

"Yar here."

"_Tasha, we have an emergency in the cargobay, and my expertise is required to try and help limit the unfortunate consequences. Therefore I will not be able to pick up Myrna in twenty-four minutes. Will you be okay staying with her this afternoon?"_

"Sure, no problem. What's going on?"

"_One of the specimens of plasma plague we are carrying is showing unexplicable growth, and unless we can put a halt to it, it will soon burst out of the containment area. If that should happen, all life aboard the Enterprise will be destroyed in approximately three-point-five-six hours."_

Tasha gasped. "Three _hours_?"

"_Three-point-five-six approximately. If we do manage to prevent this unfortunate outcome, I will come by to collect Myrna as soon as the danger is past. Data out."_

The two women looked at each other, both a deadly pale.

"Seems like you may not have to worry about Ian getting older than you," Tasha mumbled.

* * *

Tasha spent the rest of the day in her quarters. She had jammed the ventilation filter with some old rags – in case the virus (or whatever it was) was air-borne – and kept her mind off their possible impending death by playing with Myrna. She really, _really_ hoped it was a false alarm, and that she would have many more opportunities to play with her little girl...

For the first time in several months it bugged her that she didn't know what was going on. What exactly was the problem; what were they doing to fix it? If the problem was in the cargobay, why didn't they separate the saucer section, so that at least as many people as possible would be safe before it was too late? And why was the Enterprise carrying specimens of plasma plague in the first place? Wasn't that simply asking for trouble?

She could have called someone of course. But she knew she shouldn't. Technically, the ship's safety wasn't her responsibility yet, and the last thing they needed in a crisis was having to answer the worried questions of a 'civilian'. If things would take a turn for the worst, the Captain would let everyone know. And if they found a way to stop the impending disaster, Data would be here soon enough.

Problem was of course, that waiting had never been her forte. And the added anxiety for Myrna's sake did little to relieve the tension she felt. It wasn't that she was afraid of dying herself, but the idea of _Myrna_ dying...

* * *

Tasha practically jumped up – even with Myrna in her arms – when Data finally called at her quarters shortly after nine. "Data! Is everything alright?"

"Affirmative." He took the sleeping Myrna out of her arms, and gazed down at his daughter's peaceful face. "She will not die of plasma plague tonight. Nor will anyone else on board."

"Thank heavens..." Only to return straight to business. "So what was the problem? And how did you solve it?"

"It turned out that Counselor Troi's alien son was responsible."

A gasp. "Ian? But... he's held Myrna for several minutes this afternoon! Did he...? Won't she get it, too, now?" Tasha's face was absolutely ashen.

"Correction: Ian did not carry the plasma plague virus; he only caused one of the specimens to grow uncontrollably. He was merely the unwitting source of the Eichner radiation that caused this particular specimen to grow. And the probability of the radiation having affected Myrna from his holding her is negligible. Though I do admit I have been speculating about the relation between the boy's own rapid growth and the radiation's effect on the specimen. The similarity is too marked to be dismissed as a mere coincidence."

"So what did you do? Is Ian alright?" she asked, suddenly having an awful hunch to the contrary.

Data placed a soft kiss on his daughter's forehead. "Ian has left."

"What do you mean: _left_?"

"When he realized the danger his presence posed to everyone on board, he caused himself to die at will. Subsequently, he turned into a small sphere of light, and communicated to Counselor Troi that he was a life-force entity, and had merely been curious about humans. He assured her that he had never intended any harm. And then he disappeared through the bulkhead. The level of Eichner radiation dropped instantly, and the situation in the containment area is under control. We will be offloading the dangerous specimens at Science Station Tango Sierra in approximately nine-point-six hours."

Tasha looked absolutely stricken. "But Deanna... She knew she would lose him soon, but _so_ soon... Who's with her: Will Riker?"

Data frowned. "Commander Riker, Dr. Pulaski and I were with her shortly after Ian died. And we witnessed him returning to his own form, communicating with Counselor Troi and disappearing through the bulkhead. But we left shortly afterwards. I do not know whether anyone is with her at present."

Tasha's face turned to thunder. "That inconsiderate beast!" she grated through her teeth, and stormed out of her cabin, leaving Data to wonder to whom of the three of them she referred as an 'inconsiderate beast'.

* * *

Deanna's voice was steady as she invited whoever was at the door to enter. But Tasha immediately noticed the traces of many tears as she entered.

"Hi. What's up?" Playing it cool alright. But Tasha had more than enough experience in the strategy of putting on a brave face and pretending nothing is the matter to recognize the same tactics in others.

"I heard what happened," she ventured hesitantly. "Are you... I mean... How are you?"

Deanna shrugged. "We talked about it just this afternoon, didn't we? That I wouldn't get to keep him with me all that long. So..." She moved through her quarters in a purposeful stride, putting away things that didn't need putting away, and rearranging things that didn't need rearranging.

Tasha swallowed. She'd never been very good at this sort of thing. "I just... I just wanted to say how sorry I am that he... that he left. He seemed like a good kid."

"He was. Well, good thing I've only known him for some twenty-four hours. I'm sure – if he'd been with me for years, I'd have taken it a lot..." Suddenly she collapsed on the couch, tears streaming down her face; her hand clasped tightly over her mouth as if to prevent the screams from escaping her throat.

Tasha was at her side in a flash. She didn't even think – the only thing to do was to take the distraught Counselor in her arms and hold her close.

Deanna practically choked on her tears, and when she was finally forced to remove her hand for air, the heart-wrenching howl immediately poured out. "_I want him back...!_"

All Tasha could do was hold her tight. And as Deanna kept howling for Ian to come back, she, too, lost the struggle with her tears, and the two mothers cried together till they were both absolutely exhausted. Even though – deep down inside – Tasha was aware that she wasn't just crying over Ian. Or out of compassion with a fellow mother.

No. There was a sudden additional fear in her heart. Paralyzing her, choking her with the realization that things like this could happen any time, to anyone. Just like it happened to Ian. The realization that one day, she, too, might lose her little Myrna to death...

* * *

It was past midnight by the time she returned to her quarters, only to find them deserted. Obviously, Data had taken Myrna back to his place, as he usually did.

She cast a longing look at her bedroom. She could do with a good night's sleep for a change. Without being awakened – sometimes even twice – for a bottle and a nappy change.

A sigh. No. She wanted Myrna with her tonight. Tonight more than ever. If only to remind her that _her_ daughter at least was alive.

Tiredly, she strolled down the corridor to Data's quarters, and entered at his ever neutral, "Come."

Data's face took on an almost alarmed expression as he saw her. "Tasha, are you not well? You have been crying!"

Tasha made a vague gesture to fend off his inquiries. "I'm okay. I've just come to pick up Myrna."

It was obvious that Data doubted her assurances, but he didn't press the point. "She is asleep in her crib. She has had her bottle fifty-seven minutes ago."

Tasha went into the nursery without a word. But as she carefully lifted her warm, living, breathing daughter from her crib, her eyes instantly flooded again. "Oh Myrna..." Feeling the girl's soft, sleepwarm skin against her cheek was a reassurance, as well as an outcry against the injustice of Ian's death.

She wiped away her tears the best she could, and quickly made for the door. "Night, Data." Somehow, it didn't seem plausible that his analytical mind would bring her much solace tonight.

Data already started to rise in concern at the sight of her new tears, but Tasha was out of his cabin before he could utter a word.

He sank back in his chair at the computer with a frown. Tasha was clearly upset. As far as he was able to judge degrees in emotion, he would say she was very upset. Yet her hasty exit seemed to indicate that she would not welcome his attempts at comforting her, as she had done during the final weeks of her pregnancy.

Perhaps Myrna had taken that place? Though it seemed unfathomable that a not yet seven-week-old baby would be able to provide for a grown-up's emotional needs. So far, all she had done was having her own needs provided for by others.

Still, his programming still told him that it was his responsibility to keep Tasha happy. And it seemed reasonable to assume that it was Ian's death she was so upset about – she had reacted rather strongly when he told her the news tonight.

He suddenly realized that both his programming and his experiences so far held no information on how humans dealt with a child's demise. He had been witness to their reactions to the death of a friend and crewmate several times, as well as the slightly different reactions to the death of aged people. But tonight had been his first experience with the death of a child. Perhaps that evoked a different reaction, too?

He decided to check the computer library right away for both factual and literary references on the topic. Perhaps – if he had at least a theoretical insight in Tasha's emotions on the matter – he might be able to give her the support she apparently needed so badly tonight. Even if it were only a little...

* * *

Two hours and six-point-oh-two minutes (and some extensive reading) later, his doorchime sounded again. And in came Tasha – once again – carrying a half sleeping Myrna against her shoulder. "Data?"

"Yes, Tasha?" He noticed how blotchy her face was. Clearly, she had done more crying. Her voice sounded different, too.

"Could you please do me a favour?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"Would you..." Tasha swallowed. "Would you mind spending the night with me... with _us_, in my bed – just like before? Just to... to keep watch over Myrna?"

Data was already on his feet. "I do not mind at all. Are you perhaps afraid that Myrna will die, too?"

Tasha flinched. Then she nodded, her face pinched with misery. "I hardly dare to close my eyes."

Data gave her his quirky smile. "Do not worry; it is a logical reaction. I have done some research on the subject tonight, and..."

"Data..."

"Yes?"

"Just come with me."

"Of course." He told the computer to turn off the lights in his cabin, and followed Tasha down the corridor to hers. He took off his shoes as she settled in her bed with Myrna next to her. "Would you like me to come and position myself on Myrna's other side?"

Tasha looked a little embarrassed. "If you'd come and lie behind me and hold me – just like we did before – would you be able to keep an eye on Myrna as well then?"

Data frowned. "Would it not be more convenient for the purpose of my watching over Myrna to give me an unobscured view of her?"

Tasha blushed a little in the soft light. "I suppose so, yes. But when you..." Her colour deepened. "When you hold me like that, I feel... kind of safe. Taken care of. I think... I believe I need that tonight..." Her voice trailed off.

Data cocked his head. "Am I correct then in concluding from your words that you did not merely ask me to come here to watch over Myrna, but to give you comfort as well?"

"I guess so..." Tasha looked up. "You're not angry with me, are you?"

"Of course not. You know that I cannot get angry," he reminded her. "And I really do not mind spending the night with you. On the contrary: I look back at the experience favourably." With that, he stepped into the bed and took up his old position behind Tasha.

"It is different though," he remarked as he placed his arm over Tasha's middle. "My arm easily spans your entire waist now. I can even touch Myrna." He let his fingers gently massage the baby's belly.

"But can you see her in this position?" Tasha urged.

"Negative. Your body is obscuring my view." She heard and felt him shifting his position. "However, when I let my head rest on my elbow, I can see 43% of her face. Will that suffice for your purposes?"

"I guess it'll have to," Tasha murmured in a sigh.

"Tasha." His voice was much more quiet all of a sudden. "Do not make yourself uneasy. Even if I cannot see her entirely in my present position, I can hear her breathing. And according to my medical files, as long as humans are breathing in a calm, constant and regular rhythm, they are alright."

Tasha sighed. "Thanks, Data."

"You are welcome." He ordered the lights out. "Now close your eyes and try to fall asleep. You are not an android – you are human. And humans need a generous dose of sleep every terran rotation. I will keep watch over Myrna. And over you."

Tasha had a tired but grateful smile. And in Data's arms, she finally found the peace to fall asleep.

* * *

It was Monday morning – two days after the episode with Ian – and Tasha found herself rather fidgety. She had a long-standing appointment with Counselor Troi this morning for the assessment of her mental state prior to her going back on duty. Sure, it was standard procedure, but the prospect of having their empathic counselor professionally prying into her mind made Tasha nervous at the best of times.

The question was now: was Deanna indeed going to show up at 1100 hours as they had agreed? And if she did, what should she say? Should she avoid the subject of Ian altogether, or should she inquire how Deanna was doing, or...?

But at eleven o'clock sharp, the doorchime sounded indeed, and in came Counselor Troi. She was a little paler than usual, and looked a little pinched, but for the rest she seemed to have taken a fairly successful refuge in her professional role.

Still, her eyes were immediately drawn to Myrna on her colourful blanket on the floor.

"She's been trying to roll onto her belly by herself these past days," Tasha said by way of explanation. "At least when she's already on the floor, she won't take a nasty fall in an unguarded moment."

Deanna merely nodded, and they sat down for the dreaded talk. But when it was over, Deanna assured her that her report to the Captain would be predominantly positive, granting her the right to return to her previous responsibilities before long. After all, no one could take chances with the person responsible for the safety of the entire ship. Including a crew of more than a thousand men, women and children.

"And something else..." Deanna hesitated. Swallowed hard. "I wanted to thank you for... being there Saturday. Your... support was very much appreciated."

Tasha averted her eyes. "That's okay."

An uneasy silence settled upon them, in which they both sought refuge in looking at little Myrna on the floor. They watched her attempt another roll-over, and another... and suddenly she succeeded!

Both Tasha and Deanna were instantly on the floor beside her, laughing and praising the little girl. Myrna's muscles weren't quite strong enough yet for her to be able to lift her head, but that didn't stop her from looking mighty pleased with her new accomplishment.

Nevertheless, Tasha picked her up and hugged her close.

And that's when she saw it. Deanna's large brown eyes, hankering after what _she_ had: her very own living, breathing child.

And in an impulse, she asked, "Would _you_ like to hold her?"

The Counselor's face – always the very picture of calm – suddenly became a veritable battlefield of conflicting emotions. But finally she croaked, "May I?"

In reply, Tasha placed Myrna in her arms.

Myrna gave her the same studying gaze she gave everyone, and Deanna just looked, looked, drinking her in... until her tears began to fall, and she simply hugged Myrna tight into her.

Tasha moved closer and put a supportive arm around the Counselor's shaking shoulders. And reflected by herself that it was lucky in this case that ever since she'd had Myrna, she had gotten a lot less phobic about physical contact. A year ago, she would merely have watched Deanna cry in concern – without as much as a finger providing comfort.

"Ian... _Ian_...!" Deanna groaned. And suddenly she burst out in tears. "_Why_ didn't I get to keep him... _Why_ did he have to leave...! Why...! _Why_!"

Tasha pulled her a little closer.

"I miss him _so_ much!" Deanna sobbed. "It's not fair! _Why_ did he only get one day to live..."

Reacting to other people's mood as young children do, Myrna began to cry softly, too. And Tasha just held the two of them, listening to Deanna rambling on. "I've hardly anything left of him. A little holographic picture, and a drawing he made for me that evening. If I had _known_, I would have kept every scrap of him: his baby-teeth, his clothes, his clay figures... _Why_ did I insist that he'd clear those away? I miss him so much... Oh, how I wish I could spend that day with him all over again..."

Tasha just kept quiet. There wasn't anything she could say. All she could do was be there for her. Give her a chance to cry. Almost as if _she_ were the counselor instead. After all, to whom could the Counselor go for counseling?

But it was more than that. Oddly enough, it seemed as if Deanna and she – despite the Counselor's unnerving empathic qualities – had gotten a lot closer these past few days. Maybe it wasn't exactly budding friendship, but... Confidence perhaps? It was almost as if the tragedy with Ian had suddenly brought them together.

So far, Tasha had always perceived the high and mighty Counselor Troi as a kind of modern age aristocrat, condescendingly offering her kind advice to the mere mortals of the Enterprise crew. And now that Ian's death had left the lordly aristocrat so vulnerable, and their roles were all of a sudden reversed, it was as if the two of them suddenly were on a far more equal footing than they had ever been before.

Meanwhile, Deanna had calmed down a little, and extricated herself from Tasha's embrace. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. Really. I understand," Tasha assured her.

Unwilling to let go of the sensation of having a baby in her arms as yet, Deanna lifted Myrna against her shoulder. Which turned out to be the mistake that managed to lighten the mood, for Myrna instantly took hold of a strand of her dark curls, and as babies do: tried to put them in her mouth. And it took the combined effort of the two women to pry Deanna's locks out of Myrna's hand and mouth – only to have her grab another handful of curls. But in the end they managed to untangle the baby's hands from the Counselor's hair, and Tasha watched as Deanna played some more with her daughter.

And then she came to a decision. "Deanna, can I ask you something?"

"Sure." She was helping Myrna to clap her hands.

"Well, now that I'm going back on duty soon, and security not exactly being the safest line of work... Would you like to be her legal guardian – to take over my responsibilities for Myrna in case something should happen to me?"

Deanna looked up in surprise. "What about Data?"

"Of course I'd want her to stay with Data. He's the best father a kid could wish for. But I'm afraid they just won't let him. You know how the authorities are; they're likely to simply deem Data unfit to raise a child. You've seen how people react to him at first. Especially those who don't know him; they think he's a mere walking computer. If I were to die, I'm afraid they'd simply take Myrna away to fostercare or something. But Dr. Crusher told me that if I appoint a legal guardian beforehand, I can simply leave the instruction that the child is to stay with Data, and then nobody can dispute that. You'd be merely acting as supervisor."

Deanna nodded, and let Myrna examine the ring on her finger. "It makes sense, yes."

"So would you be willing to do it? Dr. Crusher has already agreed to it, too. But if it were to happen, I think it's better to have someone at hand. She's so far away – there wouldn't be much she could do."

Deanna bit her lip as she nodded her approval. "I would like that very much. Thank you," she said quietly.

They shared another hug, and suddenly Deanna confided, "You know, everything just happened so fast... I never did get around to tell my mother about Ian." She gulped painfully. "Perhaps I never will."

* * *

.

_Author's Note: I'm sorry to disappoint those of you who would have liked to see Myrna and Ian grow up together, but I really needed this to happen for Data to get back__ to spending the nights in bed with Tasha._

_And a personal note to Greeneyedggirl: your mention of Schrödinger's cat sparked some curiosity in me, but I haven't been able to find a means to contact you. If you wouldn't mind answering an inquiry about that topic, could you perhaps contact me through your preferred mode of communication yourself?_


	24. Myrna's first holodeck adventure

"Ah, good morning. You must be Lt. Yar. I'm Kate Pulaski, the new Chief Medical Officer."

Tasha gave her a grin. "I can see you've been studying your files, doctor."

Kate Pulaski returned the smile. "I admit I haven't gotten through everyone's yet. But I do check the ones from the people with whom I have an appointment that day – that way I'm acquainted with the medical background of at least some of my patients." She raised her eyebrows. "You didn't bring your daughter?"

"No." Tasha frowned in confusion. "I thought she wasn't due for a check-up until next week?"

"I know, but I thought – since she's still too young for the nursery..."

Tasha gave her a surprised glance. "She's with her father of course."

Dr. Pulaski blinked. "With her _father_? With that... that... that robot man?"

"Data is not a robot; he's an android." Tasha tried not to be affronted by the doctor's evident disgust. During the past year, she'd witnessed enough to know that initial wariness of Data's capabilities as an independent being was not uncommon for humans who'd only just met him. Especially if they were over a certain age – like the new doctor.

"What's the difference – it's still a machine," the doctor gave back.

"A machine designed to be as human as possible," Tasha explained, trying hard to remember how Data usually handled these prejudiced assumptions. And wishing even more that he was here to take over his own defense. "In many things, Data is more human than we are. And he's perfectly capable of taking care of his daughter."

The doctor arched an eyebrow. "If you say so. Of course it's none of my business how you choose to raise your daughter. But I must admit I'm rather appalled by how you young people attribute human qualities to a machine nowadays. To the point where you start thinking it really is human."

Tasha bristled despite her best intentions for patience and tolerance. "What's that supposed to mean? Data is more than just a machine! He's got a real personality, and he's one of the kindest men you'll ever meet!"

"Well, I rest my case! It consists of nothing but electronic circuits and computer chips, and you pronounce it to be one of the kindest men you've ever met!"

"Because that's exactly what he is! Ask anyone on board." Tasha took a deep breath to try and control her temper. "And may I suggest that you get to know him first, before passing your judgement on him?"

Dr. Pulaski shrugged. "I've met him."

"I said, 'get to _know_ him'," Tasha insisted. "Your reaction upon first meeting him is not uncommon, believe me. But there are very few who don't revise their opinion of him once they take the time to get to know him better. I'm sure you'll find he's the perfect gentleman. And friend."

The doctor capitulated. "Alright, alright. I'll get to know him. It would be hard to avoid anyway, seeing that we are working on the same ship. But let's get down to business, shall we? You didn't come here to quarrel with me about your android boy-friend."

* * *

It was about an hour later that Tasha stormed into Data's quarters with her indignation boiling over – only to find the cabin deserted.

"Computer, where is Commander Data?"

"_Lt. Commander Data is on holodeck 6."_

So with her adrenalin still running high, she barged into holodeck 6 a moment later, and froze on the spot. She hadn't checked what kind of program was running, but this... this was beautiful...

As the door hissed closed behind her, she made out Data's voice from among the overwhelming chirping, whistling, crowing and twittering around her. "Hello Tasha."

She didn't reply. There was simply too much to see. The low trees with their large purple and red leaves, large flowers in a radiant blue tone, the gurgling stream, and birds, birds everywhere.

Slowly, she walked over to where Data sat cross-legged in the pale pink grass, with Myrna in his lap. "Data..."

"Yes, Tasha?"

She lowered herself onto the grass, still trying to take it all in. "What is this place?"

"It is a recreation of a fragment of the Purple Jungle on Zarnod V. It is a planet with a very unusual atmosphere. Comprised of a mixture of 56.4 percent nitrogen, 26.4 percent helium and 17.2 percent zyrkonium, it does not support human life. However, a vivid flora and especially avifauna has developed on the planet's surface, successfully adapting itself to its environmental conditions."

"It's beautiful," Tasha breathed.

Data nodded. "I believe that to be an accurate description. It is the reason I brought Myrna here. Instead of reading to her about the many varieties of avifaunal life on Zarnod V, I thought she might benefit from seeing it first. To give her a proper frame of reference to which she can then relate Dr. Mokoleli's exobiological essay." He looked down at his daughter. "She does seem to be fascinated indeed. But I have not yet been able to determine whether it is the ornithoids' movements, their colours, or their sounds that hold her main interest."

Tasha had a smile. "Maybe it's just... everything. The whole picture."

"Yes. That is a distinct possibility, too." Data turned his face toward her. "Tasha, was there something you wanted to tell me?"

"Hm?"

"I noticed you came running in here in a manner I would describe as 'urgent'. Yet none of your utterances since then have conveyed to me what the reason for your apparent urgency was."

"What? Oh!" Tasha sighed. "It's that new doctor. She really pissed me off."

Data's expression turned to as close an approximation of disbelief he could muster. "Dr. Pulaski squirted on you?"

Tasha chuckled. "Idiom, Data. It means I'm really angry with her. Though it's not the kind of expression you'd want to teach Myrna."

"Then I will refrain from using this particular phrase in her presence. May I inquire what the cause of your anger was?"

Another sigh. "She said some pretty rude things about you."

"I see. Could you perhaps provide me with an example of the rude things she said?"

Yet another sigh. "The usual stuff people say before they really get to know you. You know: that you're only a machine. A robot. A walking, talking computer. And I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm crazy for leaving Myrna in your care."

"Did she pronounce you to be fit for duty?"

Tasha looked up. "Yes, she did. She says I'm at about 90 percent of my top condition – well, compared to what it was before I got pregnant. So if I clear the marksmanship- and combat-test with Worf this afternoon, I'm cleared for at least on board duty."

"Then I am certain Dr. Pulaski does not regard you as crazy. If she would, she would not have cleared you for duty," Data pointed out.

Tasha snickered a little. "Alright, touché – she can't really think I'm crazy. I just..." She heaved a sigh. "I just hate it when people don't give you the credit you deserve."

Data regarded her for a moment. "Tasha, I assure you that I was well aware of Dr. Pulaski's present opinion of me. In fact, she has voiced this openly in my presence. But please remember that I have no feelings that can get hurt. Her opinion of me does not affect me. So why should you allow it to affect you?"

"Because, Data..." Tasha pushed back her fringe in frustration. "It _does_ hurt me when people think ill of my friends. I hurt _for_ them, you understand? I'm not asking her to like you; I'm only asking that she'd treat you with the same respect she treats every other crew member on board."

"Based on my previous experiences with such behaviour, I would say the probability of that happening within three months of her acquaintance with me is 94.162 percent."

"Okay, okay." Tasha gave him a playful prod. "I just hope she won't voice her opinion of you in my presence again then. At least not until it's improved."

She lay down with her hands folded under her head. Through the giant purple leaves overhead she could see glimpses of a bright lime green sky. Birds of the most wondrous kinds floated, flitted and darted past in all directions, their tweeting and quacking blending in with the murmur of the stream, and with Data's voice apprising Myrna of all there was to see. A peaceful place, despite the noise from the birds.

She sighed. To be honest, there was one more expression of Dr. Pulaski's that itched her. The doctor had referred to Data as her _boy-friend_...

Was Data her boy-friend?

The juvenile term alienated her. It sounded too much like walking hand in hand in the moonlight, gazing into each other's eyes, and stealing kisses behind the bushes. Things she'd heard her fellow students at the Academy drool about, but never had she felt the urge – or even the curiosity – to explore such nonsense herself.

The term also seemed to imply that she'd be in love with Data.

Was she?

Never having been in love before, all she had to go on were – again – her observations of others. And fortunately, they all suggested that there wasn't a spark of love between Data and her. They were mates. Companions for the next twenty or so years in the project called 'raising Myrna' that they'd started entirely by accident.

And the fact that – in the process – they were more or less functioning together as a family unit was merely out of practical considerations. It had nothing to do with love. Besides – Data didn't have emotions, so there couldn't possibly develop a love relationship between the two of them.

Well, so much the better. She had enough on her mind; the last thing she needed right now was a complicated love affair.

Suddenly another memory surfaced, and abruptly she sat up. "Data?" she began at the first convenient pause in his exobiological recital.

"Yes, Tasha?"

"Did you bring any bread to feed to birds?"

Data furrowed his brow. "Why would you want to feed holographic ornithoids? They do not require sustenance."

"Because that's what people do! People with young children, that is. You remember that pond with the fountains behind the Academy?"

Data nodded.

"There were always people with young children there, feeding the ducks. Now we can do the same with Myrna." She didn't wait for his approval. "Computer, give me a bag full of old bread."

A plastic bag filled with green mould appeared in front of her.

Tasha wrinkled her nose, and Data commented, "I do not think this is healthy food for any mammal."

"Computer," Tasha spoke up again. "I didn't mean _ancient_ bread; I mean like bread rolls from yesterday."

The mouldy bread was replaced by four much tastier looking bread rolls covered with sesame seeds.

"That's better."

"Computer," Data spoke up now. "Give the ornithoids the digestive system of their terran counterparts, in order for them to be able to digest terran bread and seeds."

Tasha chuckled. "You think of everything, don't you. Can't have the holographic birds dropping dead at our feet, can we?"

Data nodded. "So what do we do now?"

Tasha handed him one of the bread rolls. "Break off some crumbs and throw them a few meters away from us. And once the birds come and eat them, we try to coax them into coming closer."

Data did as he was told, and they waited expectantly for the alien birds to come.

But nothing happened.

"Are they blind perhaps?" Tasha wondered.

"There is no indication in the available exobiological texts of the Zarnodian avifauna being collectively blind," Data told her. "But perhaps they are simply not hungry. Computer, increase the ornithoids' appetite by twenty percent."

Immediately the chatter surrounding them got more excited. And there, hesitantly, came the first daredevil to investigate the promising crumbs in the pink grass.

Cautiously, he hopped closer, and closer... Other birds watched him from afar as he approached the three alien forms not far from the possible food source.

"Keep very still," Tasha murmured.

Closer and closer ventured the big brown bird. He peered distrustful at those wingless aliens. Another hop. Another...

But Myrna chose that very moment to wave her arms about and crow with delight at the sight of the big bird so close to her, and the startled animal fled as fast as his wings would carry him.

Tasha let go of her breath, while Data instructed Myrna to keep very quiet and still whenever one of the ornithoids would venture close to them again, in order not to frighten them.

It took several minutes before another daredevil ventured closer, but again Myrna's all too audible enthusiasm chased the bird away.

"This doesn't work." Tasha sighed. "Computer, decrease the birds' timidity by fifty percent."

Instantly, the birds were everywhere. One sat on Data's head, five others perched on his shoulders, and Tasha had birds all over her arms and hands, trying to pull the rolls out of her hand.

"Computer, freeze program!" Data called.

Suddenly, the jungle was filled with a deafening silence, in which only Myrna's startled crying echoed back and forth between the trees.

"Oops..." Tasha grimaced.

"I do not think this was your intention," Data commented.

She had an awkward grin. "I guess I was too impatient."

Neither of them had a hand free to comfort the crying Myrna, till Data called for the computer to increase the ornithoids' timidity by thirty percent. Immediately, most of the birds were gone from their vicinity, and Tasha leaned over to wipe away Myrna's tears.

"It's okay, sweetie. It was a bit scary. That's what happens when Mummy gets too impatient. But I promise it won't happen again. The birds will behave themselves from now on."

Data's gently rocking her did the rest, and once Myrna had stopped crying, they ordered the program to continue – this time with a workable mix of the birds' timidity and appetite.

* * *

Tasha returned to Data's quarters later that afternoon with a huge grin on her face.

"Hello Tasha," he greeted her. Only to cock his head and add, "You look happy. Are you happy?"

"You bet. Starting tomorrow morning, I'm back on duty. Worf said I performed 'adequately'."

"That is high praise, coming from Worf," Data agreed.

"Actually, I beat him in the phasertest." Tasha grinned. "I've already talked with the Captain. I'm back in a coordinating role to begin with, but as soon as Dr. Pulaski declares me fully fit, I'll be back for real." She heaved a sigh. "Weird. Only last week I wasn't so sure if I was ready to go back to work. But now that it's come so close, I simply can't wait!"

Data nodded. "Your work used to be the most important part of your life. I do not think it odd that you look forward to resuming it."

"Yeah, well..." She took Myrna out of his arms. "You better get going, or you'll be late for your shift."

"I still have three-point-five-two minutes – that should suffice to get to the bridge." He hesitated. "Would you still like me to come and spend the night with you after my shift?"

"If you don't mind... I'd appreciate it very much, yes." Tasha's tone was a lot more serious all of a sudden. "It's not just that you come in handy for the nocturnal nappies and bottles – though I can't believe I never thought of that before by the way! But it's also... It gives me a sense of security to know that you are there, watching my back for me. I don't think I've ever slept so well as these past nights. Just because I _know_ that with you watching over me, I don't have to stay alert in my sleep."

A nod from Data. "Then I will join you in your quarters shortly after midnight. But I had better leave now, before the Captain empties his bladder all over me."

On that stupefying note he left, leaving a flabbergasted Tasha to stare after him, trying to figure out what on earth could have been the original expression someone had tried to teach her android friend...


End file.
